Variations
by CaptAcorn
Summary: An AU story exploring what would happen if Tom and B'Elanna met earlier in their lives, only to reconnect later when they both get stuck on Voyager. Rated T for language and some violence.
1. Prologue

**Author's note:** This takes place in an AU of my own invention, and came about because I started wondering one day: What if Tom and B'Elanna were at the Academy together, and had to be lab partners? He would drive her _nuts_. It took on a life of its own after that. Much of the rest of the crew (Chakotay, Janeway, Harry and others!) will be making cameos, but this is definitely a P/T story. It is complete, and I'll be posting updates 2-3 times a week.

A huge shout out to all the ladies of **Deck Nine** for their support and for inspiring me with their own writing. Particular kudos to **RSB** for some early plotting advice, and to **Photogirl 1890** for patiently pointing out all my typos/assorted other errors and for telling me that the completed narrative _does_ make sense, after all (Thank God). Extra special mega thanks goes to **Sareki02** , though, for making me take out a bunch of extraneous conjunctions, arguing with me about Klingon eye color, and saving the world from Nice Guy Tom.

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **November 2346**

Miral, daughter of L'Naan of the House of Korath, let loose a howl of pain. If asked, she could not have said how long she'd been in labor. At times she felt as though it had been ongoing since her own birth. She now lived from one contraction to the next, using the increasingly brief respites between to remind herself of what awaited at the end of this trial.

"Please, Miral," John Torres begged his wife. "You can't keep this up. It's been over two days. Ask the midwife for something for the pain."

"No," Miral panted, too spent to protest further.

"'Something for the pain'," L'Naan spat back at John. "My daughter is Klingon, not one of your puny _human_ females. She will endure her labor with honor, as generations of women before her have done."

Miral had insisted on having the birth and on spending much of her pregnancy on _Qo'noS_. Her scientific brain knew that her previous failures had had nothing to do with the doctors on Kessik. They did not create the genetic abnormalities that were incompatible with survival. And the last - a truly heart-rending cord accident at over twenty weeks' gestation - was a fluke. Simple bad luck. It was nothing any doctor, Klingon or human, could have prevented.

The child had been a boy. John had wished to give him a name, but Miral hadn't seen the point.

But, regardless of what science or logic told her, the idea (implanted by L'Naan) that spending her pregnancy surrounded by Klingons might better ensure a healthy infant was hard to ignore. So, despite the fact that it meant taking a leave of absence from her job and separation from her husband for several months, Miral left for _Qo'noS_ during her ninth week - once the fetus' genetic code had been cleared and there was every reason to believe it would be viable. She refused to think of it as a baby, even in the sheltered privacy of her own thoughts, until week twenty-one.

Her mother had made a traditional Klingon birth sound appealing as well - no cold, sterile hospital room, with its overly bright lights and antiseptic smell. A home birth, attended by a midwife and a few of the women of the family. Typically, the men stayed out until it was over - but John had insisted on being present. Miral now regretted giving him permission to do so. Her mother and her husband rarely saw eye to eye. Spending hours upon hours in the same room together had done nothing to improve their relationship.

"I do not understand you people!" John snapped back at L'Naan. "What honor is there in enduring unnecessary pain? She can't eat; she's barely slept! You can't make me believe it's better for the baby. It's barbaric to let your daughter suffer like this!"

"You," sneered L'Naan. "You claim to be here to support her, to love her. Yet you distract her with your bleating and your weakness." Her mother grabbed the translator off the table where John had left it and clenched it in her first. "This, Miral," the older woman growled in Klingon to her exhausted daughter, "is why I told you to make him wait with your father."

"Out!" Miral bellowed in Standard, as the crest of another contraction swept over her. "Both of you!" she added in her native tongue at the look of triumph on her mother's face.

John whispered his love for her in her ear before he departed, the look of hurt on his face filling Miral with a guilt that only added to her already considerable burden. L'Naan's expression, on the other hand, conveyed her anger and offense, but the midwife's assistants knew who they were here to serve, and escorted her out before she could verbally rebuke her laboring daughter.

"Brave child. Not much longer now," her grandmother, Krelik, reassured her with a smile. She was now the only member of Miral's family still present. "May your daughter have your strength of will."

Five hours later and her long trial was over. The baby let out a full-throated wail within only seconds of her birth, but to Miral - who had waited so long and had suffered so many disappointments on her journey to this moment - those final seconds of silence lasted an eternity. Once the midwife declared the infant healthy, she handed her to Krelik for the traditional blessing. Krelik, in turn, placed the child at the exhausted mother's breast, and Miral sent for her husband.

"Meet your child, John," she said when she heard his step approach, unable to tear her eyes from the tiny being that gazed up at her.

John eased onto the birthing couch and wrapped an arm around his wife. "My God," he choked out. "She's beautiful."

Miral turned to her husband when she heard the emotion in his voice. His face was shining with tears. "The baby is entirely healthy. There is no reason for you to be upset."

Her husband laughed gently and kissed her temple. "I'm crying because I'm happy, Miral," he explained. "We humans do that sometimes." He stroked the baby's cheek with one gentle finger. "We're going to have such great adventures, you and I," he whispered. He looked back up at Miral. "You had the final vote. So what are we going to call her?"

"Her name," Miral murmured, nearly overwhelmed by the amount of love she felt for the little person she had carried inside her for these past eight months, "is B'Elanna."


	2. Chapter 2

**August 2364**

First-year cadet B'Elanna Torres took what was supposed to be a cleansing breath before entering her first Basic Warp Theory lab session. Instead, she was betrayed by her Klingon heritage when her sensitive olfactory nerves detected the distinctive acrid smell of the first ever Benzite cadet. Great. As if she wasn't dreading this enough already. She let the air out through her mouth, and entered the lab - scanning the room so she could sit as far as possible from the producer of the offending odor.

Once seated, she activated her PADD and reviewed the lab's assignments for the upcoming semester. "Idiots," she growled, just as two laughing human women passed by her table. They both gave her a startled glance and hurried on to open seats on the other side of the room. B'Elanna bit her lower lip and cursed herself for not keeping her editorial comments to herself.

The idiots in question were not the two cadets she had apparently just frightened - she didn't even know them, and now probably never would. The idiots were the Academy bureaucrats that had assigned her to this stupid entry level class. Basic Warp Theory! She'd learned this stuff on her own nearly two years ago! But because it hadn't been credited course work, and because the education standards on Kessik were not considered in the same league as those on Earth, she'd been stuck in this class, doomed to repeat material she had long mastered.

When she'd first found out she'd have to take it, she had been ready to appeal the Registrar's decision, but her father had talked her out of it. John Torres had been through the Academy after all, having served nearly ten years as a Starfleet science officer and still working for the 'Fleet to this day as an independent contractor. He had cautioned her that rocking the boat so soon after her admittance would be a mistake. She didn't want to get a reputation as a troublemaker, he had told her. Starfleet was about fitting in, following protocol, respecting authority - all things at which he felt his daughter needed more practice.

So, here she was, forced to work on deuterium mix calculations she could do in her sleep. When her Earth-born roommate found out she was in this lab, B'Elanna discovered exactly how much condescension a person could inject into the question, "Oh, you're taking that?" But she was going to plaster a big smile on her face, play the role of attentive student - and show all these other cadets what a half-Klingon raised on an outer colony could do.

Ten minutes later, the teaching assistant entered the room and began giving out instructions for their first assignment. B'Elanna noted she was the only one sitting alone at the collection of two-person stations. She let out something halfway between a snort of disgust and a frustrated sigh and went to pull her hair forward over her face, forgetting she'd hacked it into a pragmatic bob in order to satisfy regulations. Sometimes she felt like her forehead was a big glaring sign that said "Danger! Stay Away!" When she had arrived last week for Orientation, she discovered she was not only the only Klingon in her class, but the only one at the entire Academy right now. And that included the instructors. It wasn't that she wasn't used to being the only one - she and her mother were the sole representatives of their kind on Kessik - but she had held out hope that here on Earth, which often attracted members of other alien races, she might not feel so alone.

"You must be Cadet Torres." The TA had seemingly come out of nowhere, and was now looking down at her from where she stood in front of B'Elanna's station.

"Um, yes. Sir. Ma'am," she stumbled, annoyed with herself for being startled by the TA. Did you call senior cadets 'sir'? Why had she not read her stupid protocol manual yet?

"Cadet Havenga, is fine, Torres. But where's your lab partner?"

"My partner?" B'Elanna asked her. God, was there something _else_ she hadn't read? "Was I supposed to have one before the first class?"

"That's what most people do, yes," Havenga said brusquely, as she considered her PADD. "But it doesn't matter. There's an even number of cadets in the section, so you can just pair up with whoever's left." She glanced around the room. "Which is who, exactly?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who's missing?" the TA demanded, her irritation evident. "Every seat should be filled, the one next to you isn't, so someone is missing. Who is it?"

"Um… I don't know, Cadet." B'Elanna was getting pretty irritated herself. Was it her job to keep track of every one of her classmates? "Sorry," she added belatedly, when she noted the TA's continued glare.

"Fantastic. This assignment really works best with pairs. Well, you'll just have to…"

"Cadet Havenga, I presume?" A tall blond human bounded into the room, literally sliding his feet the last half meter across the hard tile floor to stand directly next to the TA. "Tom Paris," he said, grinning as he settled into an at-ease position. "I have the pleasure of being assigned to your lab section this semester."

"You're late," Havenga responded, eyes narrowed.

"I know." Paris' shoulders dropped. "You have my heartfelt apologies. There was a conflict in my schedule, so I just got switched to this section yesterday. But no one told me it started today, and then I had to find out which lab it was being held in, but I promise I got here just as quick as humanly possible." He smiled again, his blue eyes blinking at her. "Will you forgive me?"

B'Elanna snorted. That was the most pathetic list of excuses she'd ever heard. Did this jerk really think Havenga was going to fall for that?

"Well," the TA said, her voice softening. "I suppose given all the difficulties you've encountered, I can overlook it. Just this once." To B'Elanna's shock, the woman that not five minutes earlier had been annoyed with her for not having memorized the names and locations of every cadet in her class now touched Paris on the arm and favored him with a smile. "You can partner up with Torres here."

"Great!" He was still grinning as he dropped into the seat next to B'Elanna. "Tom Paris," he said, his hand extended.

"I heard." B'Elanna turned away from him, activating their station. "Let's get started."

Half an hour later, B'Elanna knew more about Tom Paris than she did about several members of her own family. The man didn't seem to have an off switch. He'd come from a long line of Starfleet officers, including multiple captains, a commodore, and a couple of admirals. His oldest sister was some kind of medical doctor, and another one was studying art at the Sorbonne. Tom himself, apparently, had a love of the ocean and had spent a couple of years with the Federation Naval Patrol. B'Elanna found herself wishing he'd been lost at sea when yet another error message came up on his console.

"Again?" she said, no longer able to hide her considerable exasperation. "I've shown you how to do this twice already!" She tapped a few keys and corrected the equations he'd been inputting.

"Sorry." Paris shrugged at her with an apologetic smile. A smile that wasn't nearly as charming as he seemed to think it was. (Not to her, anyway. A Bolian at the next table over seemed to disagree with her, however, as B'Elanna watched him deliberately drop his PADD just within Paris' reach. He beamed at the human upon its return.) "Not much call for creating stable warp fields on the high seas."

"So why did you leave?" B'Elanna mentally kicked herself for asking, knowing the man would only take it as encouragement to keep talking.

"Oh, no specific reason really. Just time to move on." He turned to focus on his monitor. "I got kind of bored."

"Bored?" B'Elanna said, eyebrow raised. "Even with your 'passion for all things nautical'?"

Paris kept his eyes on his console, but gave her a sly grin. "I guess I'm something of an enigma."

"No one that talks as much as you do could ever be an enigma, Paris," she grumbled, then bit the inside of her cheek. She could almost hear her father reminding her to keep her snark to herself.

But Paris only laughed. "Fair enough." He sighed a beat later when his console let out an angry beep. "Damn. I screwed something up again. Sorry." He glanced at her. "I'm kind of holding you back, huh?"

"Not exactly," she replied in an attempt to be diplomatic. After all, it wasn't Paris' fault she was stuck in this remedial course. And he didn't seem like such a bad guy. A little dopey, but at least he talked to her like a normal person, instead of acting like she was about to rip out his still-beating heart like some of these other cadets seemed to think. And he earned points for not obviously staring at her forehead. She turned back to his console. "Here's what you're doing wrong. You're forgetting the warp field has to exist in subspace; you've got the parameters set as if you're operating in normal space."

He smacked his forehead. "Of course! Sorry. This isn't really my area. I haven't taken a class that used subspace physics before."

B'Elanna looked at him, incredulous. "How did you get into the engineering track at the Academy without ever having taken a course on subspace physics?"

Paris was busily typing corrections into his workstation. "I was supposed to be command track. But it's not really what I want to do. I thought R and D would be pretty cool, though. Designing new ships at Utopia Planitia, that kind of thing. What about you, Torres? You bucking for La Forge's job on the _Enterprise_ , or what? You've barely said anything about yourself."

 _Like I could have gotten a word in edgewise_ , B'Elanna thought, electing to outwardly ignore his question. "So you just… what? Woke up one morning and said, 'Today I want to be an engineer?'"

"Not exactly," he said, chuckling. "I met with Chaudhary last week, told her I wanted to transfer, and she said we could make it work. It took a little finagling, hence my tardy arrival today, but it's all figured out now."

By Chaudhary, B'Elanna could only assume he meant _Vice Admiral_ Benazir Chaudhary, the Dean of Engineering at the Academy. B'Elanna thought back to the hoops she'd had to jump through, being from an outer colony, just to be allowed to apply to the Academy. She thought about all the hours of studying she'd put in over the six months prior to her entrance exam - the extracurriculars she had dropped, the friends she had ignored. And Paris just waltzed in here on what credentials, exactly? His last name? His blue eyes?

"Hey!" he said brightly. "It finally worked! Thanks. And I promise - I'll study up this week, so I'll be much better prepared for the next lab. I won't drag you down all semester, I swear."

All semester. She was going to be stuck with this verbose entitled pretty-boy _all semester_. B'Elanna considered that she might rather be partnered with the Benzite. When one of the human women she'd scared earlier walked by at the end of class with a smile and a flirty little wave for Paris, she _knew_ she'd prefer the Benzite. Not for the first time since she'd arrived on Earth, B'Elanna wondered what the hell she was doing here.


	3. Chapter 3

**September 2371**

"I shouldn't have even told you."

"Don't be like that, B'Elanna," her father scolded from the monitor. They wouldn't be in range of direct subspace communications with Kessik once they left _DS9_ , and B'Elanna had wanted to say goodbye to her parents before their mission got underway. "You know I'm always here for you to talk. But you can't expect me to not say anything when you nearly get arrested on your first day of a new assignment."

"I didn't nearly get arrested," she huffed. "I just said the station's Chief of Security detained me. Briefly. Once I explained the situation he let me go." It was really the ops officer whose hide she'd just saved that had done the explaining, as she had been too angry to trust herself to speak calmly. But her father didn't need to know that.

"I'm just trying to remind you," John said, "that you've been given a great opportunity here. One that we didn't think you'd ever get. I don't want your superiors questioning their decision to assign you to _Voyager_ before you even start."

"I know, Dad," she said, as she crossed her arms.

"This is your chance to make a fresh start. To be the officer and engineer I know you can be. Just… try to get along with people. Stop trying to prove to everyone you're the smartest one in the room. Maybe make some friends."

B'Elanna noted the lines of worry that creased her father's forehead. She wondered how many she was personally responsible for.

"I have made friends!" she insisted, perhaps too strenuously - but sometimes he spoke to her like she was still a sullen teenager. To be fair, "friend" was probably a bit of an exaggeration for what the green ensign she'd met on _DS9_ was; she couldn't even remember his first name. Henry?

"That's a good start." Her father smiled. "Now just remember - you need to let your superiors set the tone. If they want to hear your ideas, they'll ask. No one is going to hear what you have to contribute if you try to shove it down their throats-"

"That's not what I do!" B'Elanna interrupted with indignation.

"I know that's not what you _think_ you do, B'Elanna. But you have to listen to yourself. Sometimes you sound so…" John took a deep breath. "Well, the point is, you catch more flies-"

"With honey. I get it." B'Elanna sighed, having heard the expression from him a hundred times before. "I'm trying, Dad. I really am."

"I know you are," John said, and B'Elanna could detect the note of resignation. She felt a familiar wave of nausea when she realized he was disappointed in her once again.

"Is Mother around?" B'Elanna asked, deciding the best bet was to just change the subject. Miral didn't always agree with her life choices, but at least she would see the humor of the altercation with the Ferengi.

"Uh...I'm not sure." John's expression flattened. "I haven't seen her since this morning. She might be in the garden. I can check. If you want me to."

B'Elanna deferred to his obvious reluctance, and shook her head. It was a short mission, after all. She'd be able to call her mother again in a couple of weeks. "No, it's fine. I'm supposed to meet with the Chief. I don't want to be late."

"That's the spirit!" he said, brightening again. "I'll tell her you called, and give her your love. I love you, Little Bee."

"Me, too, Dad," she said automatically before closing the console. If they loved each other so much, why was it that these days B'Elanna felt worse after every conversation?

She made her way down the corridors of her new posting to her meeting with the Chief Engineer. She was actually going to be early at this rate, despite what she'd told her father. It gave her time to admire her new, if temporary, home. _Voyager_ was one of the new _Intrepid_ -class vessels - fifteen decks, top cruising speed of Warp 9.975, and the first ship to leave spacedock that used the new bioneural circuitry.

B'Elanna never thought she'd get the chance to work on a shiny new ship like this one. Her lackluster grades at the Academy meant she'd been stuck in one dead end position after another - shuttle maintenance on a short-range supply ship, plasma manifold upkeep on a science vessel, transporter technician at Utopia Planitia - and those were only the longer assignments. The last had been the worst - within a hair's breadth of some of the most exciting developments in warp technology, but prohibited by her low level security clearance to even _hear_ the details of what they were doing. Inevitably at each posting, she'd ended up butting heads with some know-it-all lieutenant or maybe a pompous bureaucrat with a stick up their ass, and within days she'd get another notification of transfer, with no option to appeal. Her father would remind her that she needed to put her head down, and work hard, and someone would soon notice her talent; her mother would not so gently suggest she tell the Starfleet _petaQs_ to go to hell, and hand in her resignation if they didn't see her worth. All B'Elanna knew was that she was unhappy and frustrated, and she didn't know how to fix it.

But then her latest posting showed up on her console. B'Elanna had reacted angrily to start. She'd been on her best behavior for the past three months, and hadn't fought with anyone at UP, having harbored a small, private hope that one of the warp scientists would suddenly discover they had an engineering genius in their midst, toiling away in the obscurity of the transporter room. But then she'd read the assignment: _Voyager_.

It was a lower level engineering position, to be sure. But it was actually _in_ Engineering - not the transporter room, not flushing EPS relays. It was finally at least a hint of what she'd known she'd wanted to do that long ago day when she'd first told her parents that she was going to apply to Starfleet Academy (to her father's pride and her mother's vexation). She hadn't been lying when she talked to John - she really was going to try to make this work. She wanted this to be her fresh start as much as her father did.

"Ensign Torres." Commander Jora beckoned her over to a console in the center of Engineering within moments of B'Elanna's arrival. "Let me just take care of this, and then we can head to my office."

"Can I ask what the problem is, Commander?" B'Elanna said, with as much respect as she could muster. It wasn't a difficulty in this case. B'Elanna had worked under the Betazoid engineer once before, on the _Herschel_ , and had admired the woman's ingenuity and depth of knowledge. Considering how that posting had turned out, clearly Jora didn't remember her - if she did, the older woman probably would have shot her out the nearest airlock.

"It's this bioneural circuitry," the Chief said as she bent over the workstation. "It may mean faster response time, but these gel packs are as fussy as an overtired toddler. The smallest shift in environment, and they throw a temper tantrum. Isolinear circuits are looking better and better." Jora straightened, and dusted off her hands on her pants. "Lieutenant Carey!" she called to a man standing on the other side of the core. "We should be good to go now. I'll be in my office. Let's go, Torres."

"I heard you already had a run-in with Carey," Jora began, not even giving B'Elanna a chance to fully sit in the offered chair.

 _Fuck._ "Commander, I… Um…" B'Elanna stuttered. "I'm sorry. It was just… I did some studying - on the gel packs, that is - and given the way they operate - using fuzzy logic? - I thought setting operating parameters as strictly as you would with an isolinear system was stu- I mean, it sort of defeats the purpose. Of having the new circuitry. I'm sorry," she repeated. God, she had already screwed this up. _What is wrong with me?_

"You're not wrong," Jora replied. "Carey's a good man and you could learn a lot from him, but being adaptable is not one of his strengths. I've told him to use the settings you suggested."

"Thank you, Commander," B'Elanna said, stunned that the other woman had considered her ideas.

"Apparently being diplomatic isn't one of yours," Jora continued, her perceptive Betazoid eyes holding B'Elanna's in a steady gaze. "Your strengths, I mean."

B'Elanna dropped her eyes to her lap. "No, Commander."

Jora leaned back in her chair. "I remember you from the _Herschel_. That's why I requested you be assigned here."

B'Elanna looked up at this. "You remember me? You _asked_ for me? Specifically?"

"Don't look so surprised, Torres." Jora smiled at her. "You're obviously smart, and you're creative, too. A formidable combo in an engineering department. I've looked over some of the work you did at the Academy. It's rough, but it shows promise. You have good ideas in there." She gestured with her chin towards B'Elanna's head.

"Most of my professors didn't seem to think so," B'Elanna muttered, knowing and hating that she sounded like a sulky child.

Jora was still smiling. "It's hard to find the good ideas under the complete disregard for proper formatting and presentation." The commander came around to the front of her desk, sitting on the edge so she was directly in front of her subordinate. "Torres. B'Elanna. I like you. I liked you on the _Herschel_ , and I like you now. I want you to succeed here. But in order to do that - you need to meet me halfway."

"I know," B'Elanna said with a sigh. "Keep my head down and my mouth shut. Do the job I'm assigned to."

"Well, that sounds boring," Jora laughed. "I was thinking maybe you just could start by not assuming the entire world is out to get you. If you have an idea, great - but I want to hear it first. Come to me directly, or submit a proposal. This is your chance to show off a little, B'Elanna. Captain Janeway is known for cultivating officers that have a knack for unusual thinking. You just might be one of those people. You can have a home here. If you want it."

B'Elanna felt her face flush with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you, Commander. I'll do my best."

"Good," Jora said, "Now about-" The door chime interrupted her thought. "Enter."

A tall woman with dark hair and a red-shouldered uniform entered - another Betazoid, if B'Elanna had to guess based on her dark eyes and silent greeting to Jora, her fellow telepath.

"Aloud, Lieutenant," Jora admonished the new arrival. "We're in mixed company."

"My apologies, Ensign," the lieutenant said, nodding at B'Elanna. "I need to discuss some things with Commander Jora. We need to ensure the helm is at top responsiveness, Commander. The pilot of the Maquis ship has quite the reputation."

"Your timing couldn't be better, Stadi," Jora said as she rose from her desk. "Torres here has some very interesting ideas on maximizing the functioning of the bioneural circuitry. I don't care if the Maquis have the best pilot in the Alpha Quadrant, they won't stand a chance once we've got _Voyager_ working at her full potential. Come on, Torres. Show me what you can do."


	4. Chapter 4

**September 2364**

B'Elanna's leg bounced as she waited for their first flight controller lesson to start. For this particular class, she was more than happy to be in the beginner section with the rest of the engineering and science geeks. B'Elanna had read the flight manual it felt like a hundred times, but had never so much as driven a hovercar before - the thought of having to pilot a shuttle was more intimidating than she'd like to admit.

She was sitting alone - again. When they'd first arrived on campus, her roommate had made an effort to ask her to join her and her ever increasing group of friends, but B'Elanna had noticed the invitations had dried up in the past couple of weeks; no doubt related to B'Elanna's total inability to tolerate the insipid small talk that Danica and her friends seemed to thrive on. She'd made a few small inroads with some of the other engineering students, but while they'd been happy to discuss classwork with her, none of the conversations seemed to move beyond that. She missed her friends from Kessik. There had never been many, to be honest, but there was a bond that went along with attending school together for most of their lives. But, even with them, B'Elanna was sensing an increasing distance. Her life on Earth was so different from what their existence was like on the edge of Federation space.

She jumped a little when someone dropped into the empty seat beside her.

"Hey, Torres!"

Of course. Tom Paris.

He had studied for their second lab session, as promised, but was still hopelessly behind where B'Elanna was in his understanding of warp mechanics. B'Elanna was quite sure she'd be carrying most of the weight this semester. And, much like her social butterfly roommate, he seemed to have a constant gaggle of people around him at all times. But despite all that, she had to admit the affable human was starting to grow on her. B'Elanna had noticed that whenever Paris saw her, he made an effort to draw her out and actually listen to what she was saying. In fact, he was the one that suggested running track, which had turned out to be a much needed outlet for when she couldn't stand to study another minute. B'Elanna supposed he was just trying to pay her back for how much she helped him in Warp Theory, or maybe he was one of those people that liked to collect strays. At any rate, she found herself smiling back at him, if a bit grimly.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You look kinda green."

"I'm just a little nervous," she replied, trying to sound casual. She wasn't that successful given the smirk that was developing on Paris' face.

"Nervous? About this?" he asked, leaning towards her. "Not much flying experience?"

B'Elanna scootched over in her seat, retaking her personal space. "No flying experience, really. Until I came to Earth for Orientation, I hadn't been in space since I was a toddler."

Tom raised his eyebrows at this. "You signed up for Starfleet Academy without knowing if you liked being in space?" He started laughing. "What if you found out you were prone to space sickness? Or had a raging case of astronautical claustrophobia? Were you that desperate to get away from home? How bad could Kessik be?"

"Kessik is just fine, thank you very much," B'Elanna grumped at him, crossing her arms. Frankly she couldn't wait to get off that dry hunk of rock and see the rest of the quadrant, but that didn't mean she was completely lacking in loyalty to her home planet. "The Academy was simply the best place for me to study warp theory and propulsion."

Actually, it was the only place. SFA wasn't the only institution that had a somewhat dim view of the quality of education on some of the Federation's more remote colonies. She sometimes wondered if the Federation's interest in continuing peaceful relations with the Empire had led to her acceptance at one of the few government controlled schools in the region. Not that Tom Paris could relate to any of that. He was probably assured admission to the Academy just by being born.

"Anyway, Paris," she said as she threw him her own smirk. "Not much point in sitting next to me in here. I can't bail you out like I do in Warp Theory."

Paris leaned back leisurely in his chair, crossing his arms to match hers. "Oh, I think I'll be able to handle myself," he drawled, winking at her.

Torres shook her head in amused exasperation as their flight instructor stalked to the front of the room.

"Eyes front, cadets," the dark haired human male barked. "I'm Lieutenant Isaacs, and I'll be your flight instructor this semester. We're going to split into groups of five - my TA and I will each take up one group at a time, and the two remaining groups can study their flight manuals. Which you should already be well familiar with. Paris, get your ass up here."

B'Elanna watched, perplexed, as Paris threw her a casual grin over his shoulder and made his way up to the front of the room. How had he managed to get in trouble already? Wasn't that her job?

"This is my TA, Cadet Paris," Isaacs said. "And yes, I realize he is your classmate. He also has a level one flight certification, so is more than capable of showing a bunch of scientists how to fly a shuttle straight. Please afford him the same respect that you would me." Paris didn't exactly help Isaacs' case, sticking his tongue out at B'Elanna from where he stood just outside of the lieutenant's line of sight.

And so, forty minutes later, B'Elanna found herself staring at the back of Paris' head as their class two shuttle smoothly ascended into the lower thermosphere above Earth. She had deliberately hung back in the second group, hoping that would give her a better chance of going up with Isaacs; but when the two men returned to the classroom, she'd been directed by the lieutenant to go with Paris. As they had made their way to the shuttle bay, the cadets noted one of their own vomiting into a planter in the corridor. _Whose shuttle was she in?_ B'Elanna wondered desperately.

"Medical's on their way, Sinha," Paris had called out blithely as they passed her. "You'll be fine! Happens to the best of us!"

Paris blathered on cheerfully about all the things that could go wrong in a shuttle during the entire pre-flight and ascent. "There's one thing you should always remember, though…" A pause as he checked his sensors. "Never mind. We're here!" and he spun around to face his group of cadets. "Who's up first?"

 _But what's the thing we should always remember?_ B'Elanna tried to will her heart rate to slow. _And is it really OK for him to completely turn away from the control panel like that?_

Paris glanced around their craft, before locking eyes with the half-Klingon. "Come on, Torres. Show me what you can do."

"Me?" she said, attempting to sound scornful, but knowing she just came off as nauseated.

"Why not? You've thoroughly reviewed your flight manual, right? And done the recommended simulations?" He was winking at her again. Why was he always _winking_ at her?

But when he spoke again, B'Elanna noted a change in tone. He sounded almost… encouraging. "You'll be fine, B'Elanna. I promise. I'll be right here with you."

And so she took the controls. She could feel, and she was sure every single occupant of the shuttle could feel, the immediate difference in their flight when Paris turned the controls over to her, as she tried to compensate for the atmospheric tides and keep their flight steady. _How had he made this look so easy?_

"You're doing just fine," he reassured her. "I've decreased inertial dampeners, so you all have a better feel for what you're doing. Best way to learn. Oops," he said suddenly, and leaned over B'Elanna to tap the control panel. "Uh, don't do that again."

B'Elanna swallowed hard. "Sorry," she said, afraid to look away from the panel.

He patted her shoulder. "You did great. Weeks, why don't you take a turn? You said you've flown once before?"

B'Elanna switched with Weeks so she was seated on the bench directly behind Paris. "So," she said, relieved to let someone else take over responsibility for their lives, "how does a first year cadet have a level one flight certification?"

"Starfleet Prep," Paris replied, keeping half an eye on Weeks' flying. "It's an elective in the last two years."

"Starfleet Prep?" B'Elanna said, confused. "But don't you go straight to the Academy after that? I thought you were in the Naval Patrol."

He made a few quiet suggestions to Weeks. "Uh… you don't have to go the Academy, you're just guaranteed admission. I went another way. OK, next up!"

B'Elanna was confused. Getting into Starfleet Prep wasn't easy, and from what she'd heard, academically in some ways it was harder than SFA itself. Her uncharitable thoughts about his legacy status aside, Paris must have worked his ass off to get through it. Why would he just toss that opportunity aside? Especially given he just ended up in Starfleet anyway? "Have commitment issues, Paris?"

"That's a bit personal, don't you think?" He laughed lightly, most of his attention still focused on his latest cadet.

"I mean about your career," she clarified. "You obviously thought you were going to Starfleet at one point. Then you changed to the Naval Patrol, but here you are back again, except not in the academic track you're prepared for. Still don't know what you want to be when you grow up?" Her father would say she was prying too much, but considering all the grief Paris had given her about her pre-flight jitters, he deserved a little guff.

Paris' shoulders stiffened, and he swiveled back so that he was facing the front viewscreen. "I guess we can't all know what we wanted to do from the day we were old enough to hold a hyperspanner, Torres." His tone was even, but B'Elanna knew him well enough by now to pick up on the chill.

Within a few minutes, B'Elanna was able to forget the unsettling feeling of having stepped completely wrong when the shuttle made a sudden sickening lurch.

"Increasing inertial dampeners," Paris said calmly. "It's all right, Hurwitz, you just overloaded the torque buffer."

"What?" the nervous man babbled, holding his hands well above the console, clearly afraid to touch anything.

"You zigged when you should have zagged," Paris replied. "It's not a big deal, but you need to reinitialize the impulse response filter."

"Can't you just take over? I don't know how to do that!"

B'Elanna was with Hurwitz on this one. It felt like they were plummeting straight towards the planet. "This isn't a teaching moment, Paris!" she snapped at him. "Take over the damn controls!"

"I could," Paris said, waving a hand at B'Elanna as if he were trying to shoo away a pest, "but you can do this, Mike. Just put your hands back on the console and shut down the response filter, then reinitialize."

Hurwitz lowered his hands back towards the console, but was clearly still hesitant. It felt like hours were going by as Paris calmly repeated the individual steps to be done until the cadet was able to perform them. A glance at the chronometer showed Torres that, in fact, they had been out of control for barely more than a minute.

"See?" Tom said, clapping Hurwitz on the shoulder. "I knew you could do it. And now you're an old pro! You'll know exactly what to do next time this happens."

"I'm never flying a shuttle again," Hurwitz moaned in response.

"That's crazy talk!" Paris exclaimed. He lowered his voice several decibels. "Especially because they won't let you graduate until you can fly one. It's only the first day - you'll get the hang of it. If I can fly this thing, a trained monkey could! Am I right, Torres?"

There was that damned wink again.

"In fact, just to prove it to you, I'm going to let you take us down."

"What?" chorused the remaining cadets in the shuttle, conveying varying levels of incredulousness, alarm, and in Hurwitz's case, abject terror.

"It'll be fine," Paris laughed. "I'll walk you through it."

B'Elanna watched intently over Paris' shoulder as he talked the petrified cadet through the landing sequence. The other cadets in the shuttle had strapped themselves in as soon as Hurwitz began their descent so likely didn't notice - but B'Elanna saw how Paris discreetly tapped a button here and there to smooth out their landing, never stopping in his soothing monologue that reassured Hurwitz he wasn't about to end the lives of himself and several of his classmates.

"I did it," Hurwitz said, in a mix of pride and disbelief, once they were safely on the ground.

"I noticed," Tom said, smiling as he elbowed the other man and made his way to the rear hatch. "Good job, Mike."

B'Elanna jogged to catch up with him as he walked back to their classroom. "Paris!" she called out. "Tom! Wait up!"

He paused and turned at her voice, and she was startled to see his expression was… pleased? "What's up, Torres?" he asked, with only a hint of his regular smirk.

As she stood in front of him, and looked up at those blue eyes, she regretted calling out to him. What had she done, really? Just made an offhand comment about his circuitous career path. Was it really necessary for her to apologize? Then she recalled the many times he'd gone out of the way to ask her how she was doing, his kind encouragement when she took the shuttle controls, his gentle handling of Hurwitz's mistake. She also recalled his sudden change in tone and posture at her barb. OK. An apology was definitely in order. "It's just… I'm sorry. For what I said on the shuttle about you having commitment issues. It's not really any of my business how you ended up here, or why you changed tracks."

B'Elanna was surprised again when his expression closed off, his genuine smile changing to something more forced. "Don't worry about it. It's forgotten." He stood up straighter when he saw Isaacs walking towards them from across the shuttle bay, the other man's expression dark. "Crap," he muttered. "How did he know I let Hurwitz land the shuttle?"

"Tom," the lieutenant said as soon as he was within earshot, "I just heard from the dean. Your mother commed - she needs you at home. Now."

B'Elanna didn't realize it was possible for someone as fair skinned as Paris to get any paler. "Shit," was all he said, and he started jogging across the bay, without so much as a backward glance at her.

"Lieutenant?" she asked cautiously, as the other man looked nearly as grim as Tom had. "Is everything all right with Cadet Paris' family?"

"None of your damn business, Torres," he snapped as he walked away. "Get to your next class."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for all the comments! I love hearing from people that are enjoying my stories so please continue! All the Klingon below (and in the next chapter) is from the Bing translator, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. There are translations at the end of the chapter.

* * *

 **September 2371**

"Pour me another," Tom Paris mumbled to the Zaldan behind the dimly lit bar, watching closely as the amber liquid swirled around the walls of his glass. He felt like he'd been sitting here for a year, inhaling the toxic fumes of at least four different alien varieties of tobacco, not to mention the considerable odor sporadically emitted from the presumed oral cavity of the shapeless green… entity seated next to him. Waiting and waiting - and for what? Probably just another dead end.

"You humans do enjoy your whiskey," the Zaldan grunted, wiping the cheap simulated wood counter with a rag that looked dirtier than the floor. Paris kept his eyes focused on a deep red splotch that stained the bar over which he was slumped, but his ears pricked in interest. The script was finally changing. Was it time? He cautiously lifted his line of sight to make eye contact with the bartender, and was rewarded with a subtle nod, indicating that Paris should make note of the establishment's newest arrival.

Paris stretched long arms over his head before slowly spinning his stool to face the door, deliberately listing dangerously to the left as he did so. He mentally gave a deep sigh. A Nausicaan. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ Well, the pilot considered, noting the location of the two suspiciously clean-looking humans in the corner that had been shadowing him for the past three days, he did need a believable distraction. A Nausicaan certainly qualified.

"And I thought this was a classy joint," Tom slurred, eyeing all two plus meters of his "distraction" with an outward sneer but inward queasiness. "It turns out they'll let anyone in."

"Hold your tongue, human," the Nausicaan snarled back at him. "Unless you wish to part with it. I have had a trying day and my patience is short."

"Aw," Paris cooed, pursing his lips into an exaggerated pout. "What happened? Did your girl finally see you in a well-lit room?"

As Paris felt himself lifted off his barstool by the collar of his shirt, he really, really hoped that the bartender had ID'd the Nausicaan correctly. The massive aliens all looked the same to his human eyes. His adversary had either deliberately (Tom hoped) or accidentally underestimated the human's reach, and Tom managed to throw a solid right hook into the Nausicaan's jaw.

 _God, it's like punching a rock_ , he thought as he dropped to the floor with a thud.

Things were heating up nicely - a bored Terrellian quickly got involved, and grabbed the Nausicaan's arms behind him, giving Tom an opportunity to regain his feet. He grinned in satisfaction when he noted one of his stalkers from the corner getting sucker punched in the gut, then made ready to hurl a punch at the small patch of Nausicaan midsection that wasn't covered by armor, only to discover his arm was stuck.

He turned to find that his elbow was well embedded inside the cavity of his blobby green barmate. He slowly withdrew his arm with a barely disguised expression of horror and a long, loud slurping noise as a glass flew over the bar and grazed his ear. "Sorry about that," he apologized to what he thought was the creature's face.

"No worries," it belched as it melted off the stool amidst the escalating commotion. "Happens all the time. Looks like a good time for me to go, though." It jiggled and produced an odd, high-pitched noise that was still quite audible despite the now raucous environs. Was it laughing? "Do you think the bartender will notice I didn't settle my tab?" Yup, definitely laughing.

"I thi-" was all Paris managed to get out before the Nausicaan broke free of his Terrellian opponent and launched at his throat, slamming his upper back into the bar. Tom started to see black edge into his vision when a massive Zaldanian arm broke a bottle over the Nausicaan's skull. The pilot took a few gasping breaths before something grabbed his ankle out from under him, causing his chin to drop hard onto the sticky floor and dragging him unceremoniously through a heavy black curtain into a room behind the bar.

Paris blinked rapidly in the now bright light, trying to orient himself. He could have sworn he spied a purplish tentacle slither off his leg and retreat behind a crate as his pupils constricted. "If I'd known it was going to be a Nausicaan," Tom complained, rubbing his throat, "I'd have asked for real alcohol. You've got some interesting associates, K'Tarog."

"Do not be petulant about what you yourself have requested," a deep, rough voice said from somewhere above Tom's head. "If I were to follow my preference, there would be none of this ridiculous subterfuge. It reeks of dishonor."

"I thought 'dishonor' was why you were stuck on a backwater planet running weapons out of a bar, and employing Nausicaan muscle. You'd think you'd be used to it by now." Paris slowly rose to his feet. He was pushing his luck and he knew it, but, at the moment, he didn't give a shit. He hurt all over from being thrown into the bar, he'd been waiting for hours, and his synthehol buzz was long gone. If K'Tarog needed to be handled with kid gloves, Chakotay had sent the wrong guy.

"I may be old, human." K'Tarog limped around the human he surpassed in both height and weight. "But I could still snap your neck with my bare hands. Step more wisely. Your cause and _your_ associates may be honorable, but that does not confer any respect upon yourself."

Regardless of how far he'd sunken in life, Paris still maintained a healthy sense of self-preservation. And he couldn't forget the ship full of "associates" that were counting on him and what he was supposed to acquire from the touchy old man. He mentally took a breath, and dug deep to unearth the diplomacy skills he'd learned long ago as the son of a career 'Fleeter. "My apologies, K'Tarog. _lIj, jIH._ _mogh 'ej boH_. The deception is necessary for our protection and yours. They may not have any jurisdiction here, but I don't think you want those Feds sitting out there discovering the true nature of your business any more than we do."

The ancient Klingon paused in his pacing and regarded Paris as if the pilot wasn't one step above the scum on the sole of his boot, after all. "You speak Klingon."

" _vlSov loQ_. I knew a Klingon once. Well, half-Klingon." Paris allowed himself a fleeting moment to wonder what that half-Klingon might be up to these days, before discarding the thought as a waste of his mental bandwidth. She was from another lifetime, after all, one that he'd long abandoned. "Chakotay knows you to be a man of honor, regardless of what the House of Antaak may accuse you of. So why don't you show me what you promised us, and I'll show you our latinum?"

An hour later, Paris took no small pleasure in pleading a sore back and letting K'Tarog's Nausicaan lackey do the dirty work of loading the small shuttle with the improved phaser assembly, half a dozen stratospheric torpedos, and a crate of photonic mines. He returned the Nausicaan's resentful grunt with a jaunty salute, and retreated into the vessel before the giant alien could challenge him to a re-match.

"Took you long enough," a silky voice remarked from the co-pilot's seat. Seska leaned around the back of her chair, and blinked her grey eyes at him with a sly smile.

"Sorry," Paris replied. "Didn't know you were in a rush. You got a hot date to get back to?" The pilot shut the rear hatch and moved to his seat to start the pre-flight, deliberately staying just out of the Bajoran's reach. Seska was an odd duck. Given her heritage, you'd think she'd be more devoted to the Maquis cause. Instead, her primary objective as a member of their cell had seemed to be getting into Chakotay's pants. But that well appeared to be thoroughly dry these days, and Tom was her newest target. He hadn't been thrilled when she volunteered to come with him. Not that he was opposed to the occasional casual encounter, (to which a few dozen people could well attest), but something about the woman's manner made Paris believe it was best if that particular Pandora's box stayed firmly shut.

"I'm in no rush at all, now that you're back," she purred at him. "In fact, why don't we take the scenic route home?"

Paris couldn't not smirk at that. Subtle she was not. Best to engage in evasive maneuvers - the pilot figured outright rejection might end even more poorly than accepting one of her many overtures. "Gee, Seska - are we supposed to think of that poorly ventilated shack with delusions of being a Maquis safehouse as _home_ now? Even I have slightly higher hopes for my future than that."

Seska sighed dramatically and threw herself back into her seat. "You are absolutely no fun, Paris. You don't drink, you don't gamble, you apparently don't have sex. Why the hell did you leave Starfleet? It seems like a match made in heaven. A very dull heaven." She straightened and finished her end of the pre-flight check. "I wasn't serious, anyway - Chakotay sent a comm while you were with the Klingon. Things are getting a little too hot in the Kavaria system - he wants us to rendezvous with the _Val Jean_ just outside of the Badlands; then we'll head for the Terikof belt."

"He wants me to pilot a half busted wannabe fighter craft with a fifty-year old navigation system through the Badlands?" Tom replied with a grin as he punched the commands to get their shuttle to ascend. "And I thought you said I never have any fun."

* * *

 _lIj, jIH. mogH 'ej boH_ \- I forgot myself. I am frustrated and impatient.

 _vlSov loQ -_ A little.


	6. Chapter 6

**November 2364**

" _Ha' qoD SoH vIleghjaj_!" Tom called out as he knocked on the door to B'Elanna's dorm room, a hot _raktajino_ waiting for her in his hand.

The door slammed open. "What did you just say to me?" B'Elanna appeared before him, her hands on her hips and with an expression that likely could have sunk a thousand ships.

Tom's mouth drooped. "Um… let me come in?"

B'Elanna narrowed her eyes, her upper lip curling slightly before her expression broke and she barked out a laugh. "Not quite. You meant to say ' _pe'el vIleghjaj_ '" She took the proffered _raktajino_ and strode off down the hallway towards the building's exit.

"Hey, wait up!" Tom called after, his longer legs catching her easily. "Well? What _did_ I say?"

Torres was still chuckling as they passed through the door to the outside. "Trust me, you don't want to know. Just promise me you'll never say those words to a full blooded Klingon woman."

"Why not?"

She kept her eyes locked in front of her, but he saw the smirk form in the corner of her mouth as they continued down the paved walkway to the mess. "Because she'd probably rip your liver out and feed it to her targ. And I've gotten kinda used to having you around."

"My, my, Cadet," Tom said as he shortened his stride to match hers. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you might actually be starting to like me."

She was still smiling as she sipped at the _raktajino_. "I wouldn't go that far, Paris."

He smiled back at her, despite feeling on the inside like he was falling apart. This was terrible. Everything was terrible. Tom Paris had fallen in love.

It started innocently enough, that first day in the Warp Theory laboratory when she'd spent an hour deftly pointing out all the ways in which he was an idiot. Never a fan of uncomfortable silences, he'd chatted mindlessly to fill the space between them, despite the waves of hostility she'd been giving off. But, before long, he'd found something about her had intrigued him. It was clear she was brilliant - he'd definitely won the lab partner lottery. But she was academically driven in such a single-minded way that Tom suspected she felt that she had something to prove. She also seemed a bit adrift, socially speaking. He hadn't missed the way some of their classmates took not-so-discreet glances at her forehead, or the way others gave her a wide berth if she so much as expressed a grunt of frustration.

Tom was a fixer. If he saw a problem, he wanted to solve it. It was one of the many reasons he'd wanted to switch to engineering, despite familial expectations he'd go command track now that he'd given in and come back to Starfleet. Ethical debates, nitpicking the Prime Directive, moral grey areas - it all gave him a headache. Neat, clean solutions to well-defined questions - that's what was satisfying, whether one was considering a new warp drive or a homesick half-Klingon.

His first step in solving the issue of a lonely B'Elanna Torres was straightforward enough - ask her to join him and his friends in the mess, suggest she sign up for track after he saw her running solo one morning, invite her along on some group outings off-campus - but it turned out to not be so clean. It turned out to be pretty damn messy. Because now he couldn't stop thinking about her.

 _I wonder if B'Elanna likes burritos?_ as he ate at the local taqueria. _Has B'Elanna seen this article on the new subspace distortions they picked up in the Beta Quadrant?_ as he looked for interesting news articles to show his father. She was even affecting his school work: he'd always been content to coast, academically speaking - just enough work to grasp the material and pass the class, not much more. But now he was like a man possessed - devouring texts on subspace geometry, impulse mechanics, plasma physics - just hoping she'd notice his effort. He cringed at the memory of how gratified he'd felt two days ago when she'd commented before leaving their lab station: "Nice work on not embarrassing yourself today, Paris."

And then there was last week at the library. Somehow his roommate had gotten hold of a portable dom-jot table and had started a minor gambling ring from their dorm room. Normally he was happy to participate, but he'd had two different mid-terms to prepare for, and regardless of how many times Ren insisted playing a round of dom-jot was as good as two hours of studying physics, it didn't make it true. So he'd grabbed the first empty carrel he found, and settled in for hours of staring at PADDs on statistical mechanics and materials science. But it turned out the carrel hadn't been empty after all - the previous occupant had left behind a PADD. When he activated it to ID the owner, he discovered that it was open to a text on Klingon history and societal mores. He'd never been particularly interested in comparative anthropology before, but this time he'd been instantly hooked, (and barely passed that stat mech midterm).

The biggest problem when it came to his rapidly growing feelings for B'Elanna was that he didn't have the faintest idea of where it was that he stood with her. She'd instantly seen his usual charm offensive for the bullshit it was, (highly successful bullshit, but bullshit nonetheless), and challenged him on just about everything. There were days she seemed so committed to disagreeing with him that he wondered if she would insist her eyes were blue if he mentioned they were brown. On the other hand, it wasn't like she was pushing him away - they'd fallen into a habit of grabbing breakfast each week before their Warp Theory lab, and he'd recently noticed her lingering outside his Quantum Mechanics lecture more often than not - at which point she'd casually wonder if he'd had lunch yet. (After the first time, Tom made sure he had not.) She always picked his shuttle over Isaacs' when given the choice.

There were more than a few times an invitation to a dinner more intimate than could be had in the mess was on the tip of his tongue. But one look at her tense shoulders and her wary expression, and he knew that once that line was crossed with her, there was no going back. If the answer wasn't yes, he was sure it would be the end of their friendship. And that wasn't a risk he was willing to take yet.

"What's up with you today, Paris?" B'Elanna called from where she was waiting for him at the door to the mess, having left him behind while he agonized. "I think you needed this _raktajino_ more than I did this morning."

Worst case scenario, he considered as he picked up his pace to join her, he _had_ accomplished his initial goal of making sure she had a friend on campus. Too bad that didn't feel like that was enough for him anymore.

=/\=

"Can you hand me your Astrophysics notes again? I need to check something."

"' _oH Suq je, be'_ " Tom replied, grinning into his PADD. He peered at her around the edge of it, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh, for God's sake. If you're not going to be serious about this, I'm leaving." She stood up from the table that was tucked into a set-off corner of the mess, disrupting the quiet as she threw her dishes onto her tray.

"B'Elanna!" Tom exclaimed, not able to stop himself from laughing. "It was a joke! I've got the notes right here."

He bit into his pizza to try to control his chuckling when he saw the intensity of her glare as she snatched the relevant PADD from his hand. He should have known better than to deliberately press her buttons - she wasn't in the best mood to begin with.

It turned out there were a few holes in the education she'd gotten on her home colony, and now that they were in the homestretch of their first semester, they were starting to become more apparent. The Kessik Public Education Commission had particularly fallen down on the job when it came to their astrophysics curriculum, and B'Elanna was having a progressively harder time keeping up in Astrotheory 101. Having already taken the class back at Starfleet Prep, Tom had offered to help her catch up. It was clear to him, though, that while she'd been outwardly grateful for the offer, she also resented needing his help in the first place.

"So what's with all the Klingon lately anyway? You have heard of universal translators, right?" she asked, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail. If Tom hadn't been so busy trying not to laugh at his own joke, he might have picked up on her tone for what it was - suspicious and not a little irritated.

"It's a fascinating language! Did you know there wasn't a Klingon word for 'peacemaker' until earlier this century? Well, of course you do. This is probably all old hat to you," he blathered in complete obliviousness. "I've been learning all kinds of things about Klingons, actually. Your people are pretty interesting folk. The culture is so complex - the organization of the Great Houses, the codes of honor you have to adhere to, the rituals like the Rite of Ascension. And the history - Kahless and Lukara! Two warriors fighting off a hundred soldiers! It's amazing stuff."

"Five hundred," B'Elanna said in a flat voice.

"Huh?" Tom said through a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese.

"Five hundred," she growled this time. "Kahless and Lukara fought off five hundred warriors." She stood slowly, glaring at him all the while. "If you are going to fetishize my _people_ , you can at least get your facts straight." And with that she spun on her heel and stomped her way out of the building.

"B'Elanna!" Tom jumped up from the table, getting his foot caught in his chair as he did so. "Damn it - wait!" She was already halfway across the quad by the time he got outside. "What did I say?" he called after her.

"You didn't say anything, Paris. Forget it," she snapped back as she continued to stalk towards her dormitory.

"Will you wait up?" he panted as he caught up with her. He really shouldn't have had that fourth slice of pizza. He grabbed B'Elanna by the arm to stop her. This was also an error in judgement.

She whipped around to face him, teeth bared. "Let go of me."

Startled by the menace in her voice, Tom immediately released her. "Sorry. I just wanted you to stop. Will you please tell me what I did?"

"If you must know, I understand Klingon just fine, but my grandmother says I speak it like a _Hur'Iq_. I declined to undergo the Rite of Ascension, I don't know how to use a _bat'leth_ , and I don't give two shits about whether my soul gets to _Sto'Vo'Kor_. As for what I'm sure you're most curious about - most of the rumors have been highly exaggerated by horny comparative anthropologists. Happy now?"

"No, not really," Tom said, genuinely confused.

"You think you're the first person to do this to me?" she demanded.

"Do what?" he asked, his tone a mix of pleading and exasperation.

She blew out a short huff, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "Look, I'll give you credit - at least you pretended you were interested in me as a person first-"

"I am interested in you as a person!"

"-but I'm not here for you to satisfy some Klingon fixation you have, or be another species to cross off your list!" she finished, with considerable heat.

Taking a deep breath, and possibly his life into his hands, he reached out again and tentatively touched her forearm. "B'Elanna, you have this all wrong."

She glared at him silently, pulling out of reach. But she didn't walk away.

"I don't like you because I'm interested in Klingons. I'm interested in Klingons because I like _you_."

"You _like_ me?" Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him, her tone barely more civil than a snarl.

This was his chance. A perfect opportunity to explain exactly how _much_ Tom liked her. He opened his mouth to tell her, but noted her tightly crossed arms and her lowered chin. He thought of the way she took a step back if he got too close, the way she withdrew if he even accidentally brushed against her. And he chickened out.

"Yes," he said softly, "I like you. As a friend, I mean." Well that settled it. If the Klingons were right about the afterlife, he was headed straight to _Gre'thor_.

Her posture visibly relaxed. Tom wondered if the hint of disappointment he saw flicker across her face was real or just wishful thinking on his part.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at the ground. "If I overreacted. It's kind of a touchy subject. It's complicated, sometimes - being from two different cultures."

"I can only imagine. And I'm sorry, too," he said, ducking his head to try to meet her eyes. "I probably sounded like an idiot, going on and on about Klingons."

"A little," she said, as she favored him with the beginnings of a smile. "But despite that, I'd like your help with Astrotheory. If the offer's still open."

"Of course," he said, going for broadly magnanimous but fearing he only achieved pathetically groveling. He started to reach around her back to gently guide her back to the mess, but quickly adjusted so it looked like he was just pointing out their proposed path. "After you, Cadet."

"Thanks," she said, then followed it with something so quiet he wondered if he imagined it. "And I like you, too."

* * *

 _pe'el vIleghjaj_ \- Let me come in.

 _Ha' qoD SoH vIleghjaj_ \- Let me come inside you.

' _oH Suq je, be_ \- Get it yourself, woman.

 _Hur'Iq_ \- foreigner/outsider


	7. Chapter 7

**September 2371**

"What are you doing up here, Torres?" Lieutenant Carey glowered down at B'Elanna. She had deliberately come to the upper level of engineering to work in hopes of staying out of the Assistant Chief's line of sight; but, despite the fact that she was sitting on the floor behind a console, he'd managed to track her down.

"I'm adjusting the bioneural circuitry parameters in the secondary systems, Lieutenant," B'Elanna replied, forcing herself to keep her tone even. "Like Commander Jora requested."

"Just the secondary systems?" he asked. B'Elanna noted the challenge in his tone.

"That's what I said, Lieutenant," she said through gritted teeth. _Just leave me the fuck alone, Carey. Just walk away and we won't have a problem._

"And you understand I'm the ranking officer in Engineering if Jora's not here, right?" he continued. "And that you need to clear anything involving the primary systems with me before even touching them?'

"I'm well aware," she said as she took a deep inhale through her nose. "Sir," she added after a beat. She went back to her work, staring at the contents of the open panel and refusing to look up even though she could feel Carey's eyes still on her. _Focus on the work_ , she told herself. _Remember what Jora said._ It's not like he was going to keep standing there, watching her forever.

Several seconds passed. Shit. Maybe he was...

"Take lunch when you're done here, Torres. Everyone needs a break at some point," Carey finally said. "You can take the bridge station for the rest of your shift." She listened to his footsteps move away.

 _That wasn't so bad_ , she thought, her heart slowing as her agitation faded. _I can do this._

Twenty minutes later, and once again B'Elanna wasn't so sure. She entered the busy mess and saw a table of her fellow engineers take note of her presence, then very determinedly look down at their food and each other, refusing to meet her eyes. Not surprisingly, they were all people that had been present during her blow up with Carey the day before. She ordered her salad from the replicator, and resigned herself to another meal alone.

"Hey, B'Elanna!" she heard a cheerful voice. "Over here!"

Startled to hear her first name, she looked over to the wall of viewports to see the ensign from _DS9_ waving at her. He was sitting with another human but was gesturing towards an empty seat at the table - a clear invitation to join them. As she brought her tray over, she really wished she could remember the man's first name.

"Ensign Kim," she greeted him, hoping he would assume she was being formal as opposed to forgetful.

He smiled warmly at her. "Harry's fine."

 _Harry! Right! Thank you!_ She set down her tray, reminding herself to smile as she folded into the chair.

He was gesturing at his lunch companion, a woman in a yellow uniform. "I was just telling Lyndsay how you saved my butt on the station. I can't believe I almost bought that entire tray of crystals. I really owe you one. Have you two met, by the way? You're both in Engineering, right?"

The other woman swallowed her mouthful hurriedly, giving B'Elanna a little wave. "Yup. I think we're on different shifts, though. I'm on Beta. Lyndsay Ballard."

B'Elanna looked at her and frowned. "You do know Beta shift started over ten minutes ago, right?"

Ballard's face fell. "Shit. See ya, Harry. Nice to meet you!" she called over her shoulder as she bolted out the door.

Kim was shaking his head. "That's Lyndsay. We were classmates. At the Academy."

"I didn't think you meant preschool," B'Elanna grunted as she took a bite of salad. _Crap,_ she thought as she noted Kim's ears turning pink. She grimaced in what she hoped was an apologetic fashion. "Sorry. That was kind of rude."

Kim chuckled and his shoulders relaxed. "I've met ruder. Like that Ferengi. Or Lyndsay, for that matter."

The ops officer sat there and continued to smile at her. Searching for something to break the silence, B'Elanna nodded towards the PADD sitting next to him. "What are you working on?"

Kim groaned in response. "The first assignment I get from the Captain, and I'm totally over my head. She wants me to figure out a way to improve the sensor range in the Badlands. I was hoping Lyndsay would have some ideas, but that obviously didn't work out. I'm supposed to turn in a proposal to her by 1600. I'm drawing a total blank." He slumped, resting his head in his hand.

B'Elanna bit her thumbnail. She should just let it go - wish him good luck and mind her own business. The problem was, she couldn't help herself - if there was a puzzle to solve, a problem to fix, she couldn't leave it alone until she had an answer. Plenty of her fellow officers on other postings had picked up on this tendency, and had sought her out for input on various engineering issues in the past. And that would have been just fine - if any of them had ever bothered to give her credit for her ideas. The couple of times she tried to stick up for herself and confront the guilty party or report it to a superior officer, her objections were dismissed as just another sign of her lousy attitude.

But he looked so pitiful. Like a child's abandoned teddy bear that had been left outside in the rain. She reached for the PADD. "I'll take a look." She hesitated and looked closely at him. "If you want."

He waved his permission. "By all means. I'll take whatever help I can get at this point."

She studied the PADD intently, flipping back and forth between various files, absentmindedly taking a bite of food here and there. _Maybe… No, that wouldn't work. But they could… If only…_ She heard Kim clear his throat and she looked up, blinking.

"Um," he started, a hesitant smile on his face. "I appreciate your help, but I've got to get back up to the bridge in five." He frowned his concern. "Maybe I'll have a eureka moment on the turbolift."

She looked around the mess, confused. "How long have we been sitting here?"

"Almost half an hour," Kim replied, his hands fidgeting.

"Oh," she said, with a shake of her head. "Sorry. Anyway," she continued as she handed him back his PADD, "there's no way to boost standard sensor range. Too many plasma storms, which means too much unpredictability. The minute you compensate for one, another will come along and you'll be back to square one."

Kim's expression rapidly evolved to one just this side of hysteria. "But there has to be something we can do! I can't go to the Captain and tell her I failed! On my first assignment! On my first posting!"

The corner of B'Elanna's mouth quirked, as she fought an urge to laugh at the panic in his voice. "I didn't say there was nothing you can do. I just said you can't boost the standard sensors. But you can make them work a different way."

He looked at her incredulously. "You want me to overhaul the entire sensor array? We're going to be in the Badlands in less than forty-eight hours!"

She couldn't restrain herself any longer, and snorted. "Calm down, Newbie. That's not what I'm getting at. You just need to…" She paused as she considered the best way to explain her theory. "Do you know much about bats? Or dolphins?"

"Bats?" he said faintly, clearly losing faith in her ability to help him. "Not really, I'm not... " A look of realization dawned across his face, and he beamed at her. "Echolocation! You're a genius!" A pause. "Did you just call me 'Newbie'?"

B'Elanna grinned in response. She was really starting to like this kid.

They hammered out the idea as they made their way together up to the bridge; in B'Elanna's case, it would be her first time going there. Most of the time on a 'Fleet vessel, being asked to take the bridge station would be considered a compliment - it was usually only assigned to the best of the department. B'Elanna, however, suspected Carey just wanted her out of his thinning hair.

She fought to tame her excitement when she saw the console at which she'd be working. B'Elanna was so eager to get her hands on it, she wanted to forcibly eject her fellow engineer from the station rather than listen to his status report. She ignored a fleeting moment of disgust at the warmth left by the previous seat's occupant, and got to work - reviewing historical plasma flow rates through the EPS against engine performance, scanning for slow downs in the bioneural circuitry. Finally she was doing what she'd always imagined when she applied to the Academy so many years ago.

"Captain on the bridge!" the XO, Commander Cavit, barked out. B'Elanna jumped to attention. Only a few beats behind the rest, really.

"Ensign Kim," Janeway said as she crossed over the ops station, waving a PADD in her hand, "Well done. These are some very interesting ideas you've got here. I'm impressed."

Kim was positively glowing. "Thank you, Captain!"

"Figures," B'Elanna grumbled to herself as she turned back to her console. She didn't know why she was surprised the ops officer was taking all the credit - it had been proven to her time and time again that 'Fleeters were out for themselves and didn't care who they stepped on on their way up the ranks. She had just thought Harry Kim might be different. If she was being completely honest, what she'd really been hoping - naively it seemed - was that maybe he could be a friend.

It seemed like every time she thought she was taking a step forward on this ship - hell, in Starfleet in general - someone was right behind her, ready to pull the rug out.

"Ensign Torres."

B'Elanna looked up to meet the steady blue eyes of her captain. B'Elanna didn't understand how a woman no taller than her and quite a bit slighter in build could be so damn intimidating. She found herself having to call on her Klingon heritage just to hold onto the other woman's gaze. This was the first time Janeway had actually spoken to her - not counting the brief words of greeting she'd addressed to B'Elanna and a dozen other officers when she'd first come aboard.

"Captain," she said warily. "Is there something you need?"

Janeway's eyes crinkled as she favored B'Elanna with a warm smile. "Don't look so worried, Ensign. I just wanted to thank you."

This was unexpected. "Thank me, Captain?'

The captain gestured to the other side of the bridge. "Mr. Kim informs me you were the one that came up with the idea on how to make the sensors work more effectively inside the Badlands. That's the kind of creative thinking I like to see. Good work, Ms. Torres," she said, clapping a firm hand on B'Elanna's shoulder before heading back into her ready room.

B'Elanna looked over at Harry and saw that he was deeply involved in his station. She smiled at him regardless, flush with an unfamiliar feeling of gratitude. She spun back to her own console when a notification alert sounded. It was a message.

 _Looks like I owe you two now. I'm going to have to start a tab. - HK_

She looked back over to ops just in time to be on the receiving end of a friendly wink.

No, _Voyager_ wasn't so bad at all. In fact, for the first time in a very long time, she felt like things might just work out OK.


	8. Chapter 8

**January 2365**

B'Elanna sighed as she read through the latest draft of her ethics paper. The entire situation was infuriating. Who did Tom Paris think he was, anyway?

After feeling at the end of last semester that the grades she had received didn't reflect the quality of work she'd done, she'd pulled the desperation move of accepting help from her now former lab partner and flight instructor. She'd tried talking to her advisor first, but he hadn't done much more than insult the quality of teaching she'd had prior to the Academy, and tell her that her academic forecast was grim if she didn't get better at presenting her ideas in a coherent fashion. After that unfruitful encounter, despite being torn between crying and punching a wall from frustration, she'd gone to meet Tom for a dinner she'd agreed to earlier that day. She'd almost canceled, figuring he'd make an excuse to leave as soon as he saw what a volatile mood she was in. Instead, he said almost nothing. Just sat her down, and got her banana pancakes from the replicator.

"It's 1700," she mumbled into her lap when the plate appeared in front of her.

"Lucky for you, the Academy mess has a long standing policy of 'Breakfast All Day.''' He gave her a tentative smile, which she managed to return. Sort of.

They'd eaten in silence, until halfway through her plate B'Elanna couldn't take it anymore and told him the whole pathetic saga. Her hard science grades were decent, if a little lower than what she'd expected. But the other stuff… It was clear she was floundering. And now she was looking at a whole new semester of things like Ethics for an Interplanetary Society and Introduction to Diplomacy - nothing her mechanically minded brain was going to grasp easily. By the time she revisited her useless advisor meeting, the calming effect of the pancakes was long gone.

"Advisors aren't good for much beyond telling you what courses you need for the career you want. Kemper's not going to be able to help you get your grades up. You should meet with the individual professors for advice," Tom remarked, once it was clear her vent was running out of steam.

"So - what? I walk in during office hours and say, 'Hey, asshole, why did you give me a D?'" she scoffed.

"Yeah, pretty much," he said, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "Maybe leave out the 'asshole' part." At her continued skeptical glare, he went on. "That's what they're there for, B'Elanna. Nobody _wants_ you to fail. They just have certain expectations."

"I'm starting to have a hard time believing that - the nobody wants me to fail part." She dropped her forehead onto the table. "Why did I even come here?"

She felt a hand cover hers, and resisted her instinct to pull away.

"Because you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. And if you can survive all the bullshit, you're going to be one of the best engineers Starfleet has ever had," Tom said. "Why don't you let me take a look?"

She jerked her head up. "At what?"

"At some of these papers you weren't happy with. I owe you after all the hand holding you did for me in Warp Theory." He paused and frowned at her. "You don't have to look at me like I grew an extra head. My parents have been grooming me for the Academy since I was in the womb. I know from whence I speak." He smirked. "And I got an A in Interstellar History."

She made a face at him. "I hate you." He was still smirking. "And thanks."

So she had let him look. She'd been pretty skeptical, considering how much help she'd needed to give him last semester with many of his engineering courses. But she had to admit, the advice he'd given her had been more useful than her advisor's, ("You really need to do better,") and _much_ more helpful than her roommate's, ("But that class is so _easy_! What do you mean you're having trouble?"). Paris had started by ripping apart last semester's final history paper - B'Elanna had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from responding vigorously in its defense as he'd painstakingly walked her through exactly why it had earned her a C-. And then he'd done the same with her first diplomacy paper of the semester. It had been even more painful that go round, but the B+ she received just about made it worth it.

On the other hand, the proud smile and hug he'd given her when she'd shyly told him her grade triggered feelings she wasn't ready to examine yet.

Now it was Ethics. This was actually her second draft; two minutes into reading her first one, Paris had just tossed the PADD back at her and said, "All wrong. No clear thesis statement, I've already spotted three sentences in passive voice, and way too many adverbs. You have to stop qualifying everything. Start over."

She'd had it at that point. It had been a trying day - the Survival Strategies instructor had picked apart her project in front of the entire class ("Nice idea, Torres, but is this going to work for those of us without a redundant lung?"), and she'd gotten into an argument with her Subspace Geometry prof about the importance of tetryon radiation in detecting subspace rifts, ("This isn't the High Council, Cadet. There's no need to shout.") The last thing she needed was another reminder of why she shouldn't be at the Academy. Besides, she had worked really hard on that draft, trying to keep in mind the dozens of rules he'd given her - he couldn't even read the whole thing?

She reminded herself that he was trying to help, and lobbed the PADD back in his direction. "I think I actually have some good ideas, if you wouldn't mind reading to the end," she said, her voice low and tightly controlled. Back on Kessik this particular tone meant her friends usually found a good excuse to be somewhere else.

The PADD landed on the table in front of her only a second later. He hadn't even bothered to look up. "There's no point. If you have any good ideas, they're buried in lazy, disorganized writing. I'll read to the end when it's better."

She gripped the sides of her chair to keep herself from punching the smug look off his face. Paris continued to sit in irritating silence, his big stupid feet propped up on the table, tossing pistachios in his mouth and leaving a pile of discarded shells in his wake. She took a scan of the common room to see if anyone else was watching. They were the only occupants. Guess it was Paris' unlucky day. "I know this is all just a lark for you - helping the poor Klingon - but it would help if you could actually tell me what I'm doing wrong instead of just dismissing my work," she hissed.

He looked up then. "I _have_ told you what you're doing wrong - they're all the same mistakes you made on the first paper I read. And attacking my motives or trying to make it about you being Klingon is not going to change that." Paris turned his glare back to his own PADD, but B'Elanna didn't miss how his jaw tightened.

She jumped to her feet, her chair making a loud clatter as it hit the floor behind her. "You have no idea what it's like for me," she shouted. "What's it's like to be half-Klingon in a world of humans! How much I have to suppress to just get through a fucking day at this goddamn place!" She turned away from him and let out a humorless laugh. "How _would_ you know? The biggest problem you've probably dealt with is having too many dates on a Saturday night."

"You know what, B'Elanna?" Tom said after a long pause. "All I've tried to do is be your friend. I've put up with the moodiness, and the insults to my intelligence, and your fucking shitty attitude; but I've had it."

"If you find it so difficult to be my friend, then why keep trying?" she snapped.

"That's a good question," he said, his voice low as he rose to his feet. "I think I'll stop wasting my time."

That was yesterday. B'Elanna had felt pretty terrible the minute he walked away; she reached a new level of awful when she re-read her first draft and saw that everything he had said was true. Fantastic. She'd torched the one real friendship she'd managed to make in this place, and all over a crappy essay with no clear thesis statement. She'd had fights with friends before, of course, her temperament being what it was. But she'd never had one that felt so final, or made her feel this level of remorse. Not knowing what else to do, she restarted the paper - hoping that Paris would see a better written draft as an olive branch.

Contrariness being her default state of being, that remorse didn't mean she wasn't pissed at him all over again two hours into writing this new, supposedly better, draft. She'd rather take apart an impulse reactor down to the circuits and re-assemble it with nothing but a hyperspanner and her bare hands than think about the moral implications of the Prime Directive for one more second.

"Excuse me." An unfamiliar voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you B'Elanna Torres?"

B'Elanna looked up to see a tall woman with dark blonde hair tied in a messy bun smiling at her. It was clear she wasn't a cadet or instructor, given her civvies and visitor's badge. What wasn't clear was why she was in the SFA library. You didn't often see civilians wandering around campus by themselves. "Um, yeah. Can I help you?"

"I hope so," she said, helping herself to the seat next to B'Elanna. "Have you seen my brother? Tom Paris? He was supposed to meet me here a half hour ago, but he hasn't shown. I think I've checked every room in the building. Stupid me forgot my comm device."

B'Elanna was so stunned at this woman's familiarity she just said, "No, I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"Damn," she said. "Came all this way for nothing. I'm not even sure if I should be mad at him for forgetting about me, or mad at myself for not having a way to reach him." She extended a hand to B'Elanna. "I'm Kathleen, by the way. The doctor. I know he just refers to us as the doctor and the artist. Me and my sister Moira, that is."

B'Elanna shook her hand and stared at her another minute, dumbfounded, before asking, "How did you know who I was? And that I know Par-, I mean, Tom?"

She grinned, and B'Elanna instantly saw the family resemblance. "Because he talks about his brilliant, gorgeous half-Klingon classmate every chance he gets. It's ridiculous. You'll be having a conversation about cheese or something, and he'll come up with, 'Klingons don't really eat a lot of dairy.'" She bit her lip, but didn't stop grinning. "He is going to _kill_ me for telling you all this." A wink. Apparently that ran in the family, too. "But what are big sisters for? Hey! You should come with me!"

"Where?" B'Elanna asked, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that, at least once, Tom Paris had described her as "gorgeous" to his sister. Maybe Kathleen had misheard? She started mentally running through synonyms for "irritable" that might sound like "gorgeous."

"To my parents' house. That's where I left my comm device, and that's the neighborhood that has the new Korean place we were going to try. Supposedly it has amazing cocktails. And karaoke. My drunk brother singing karaoke is an experience not to be missed. You can send him a message to meet us there." She stood and extended a hand towards B'Elanna again, this time as an invitation.

B'Elanna gave her a polite smile, but shook her head. "Um... Thanks, but I really should finish this paper."

Kathleen just snorted. "It's Saturday. Even cadets are allowed to have weekends. And if you haven't figured it out yet, us Parises don't accept 'no' easily. C'mon!"

She'd never had someone make her feel so completely off-balance before - except, maybe, this woman's brother. Surprising herself, B'Elanna found that part of her did want to go with Kathleen. But… "I think your brother is kind of mad at me. It's probably not a good idea."

"That makes it an even better idea!" Kathleen insisted. "He's incapable of staying mad at anyone for long. This is the perfect way for the two of you to bury the hatchet. Trust me. I've known him since he was born."

And before she really understood how it had happened, B'Elanna was in her room changing into civvies, and Kathleen was calling for a hover cab.

Tom's sister was as friendly and open as he was, although she had none of his occasional smarminess. Kathleen spent much of their trip telling B'Elanna funny stories about her little brother, interspersed with asking B'Elanna what Kessik was like, (dry, hot, and boring), if she'd seen much of San Francisco or California in general (barely), and if she liked being an only child (her parents seemed to prefer it that way and B'Elanna didn't know any different). By the time they reached their destination, B'Elanna felt like she'd known Kathleen for months, not barely an hour.

They exited the cab on one of the steep hills of Pacific Heights, a neighborhood that B'Elanna hadn't visited before. One look around at the stately homes that loomed over them and she was ready to turn tail and head straight back to campus. Kathleen seemed to miss her discomfiture, and pulled her towards the entrance of a particularly magnificent Queen Anne.

"This is your house?" B'Elanna said, craning her neck upwards. "For just your family?"

"I know." Kathleen frowned, her cheeks flushing pink. "It's a little ridiculous. It's been in the family forever, though. My mother just inherited it."

"Oh, no need to explain," B'Elanna replied, shaking her head as she started slowly up the front steps. "It's… uh, it's very nice."

Kathleen led her through a maze of hallways to the kitchen at the back of the house. When they entered, they found Tom pacing the floor, hair messy and jaw clenched. He looked up and spotted Kathleen first.

"Finally!" he said. "I commed you over two hours ago! Where have you been?"

B'Elanna had never seen Tom's expression so desperate, nor heard such panic in his voice. She had just made her mind up to turn around and try to find her way to the nearest exit on her own when he noticed her, too.

"What the fuck, Kathleen?" he snapped. "Why the hell did you bring her here?"

Kathleen reached out and grabbed B'Elanna by the arm before she could leave. "This isn't about you," she said quietly, before turning to her brother. "What happened?"

"It's bad this time," he said, pacing again. "Really bad. The worst. I didn't even want Mom to go back up there, but she insisted."

"The bedroom?" she asked, then jogged up the stairs at Tom's short nod.

B'Elanna was frozen. She knew she should just go, leave them to deal with whatever family crisis they were having, but something about the anguished expression on Tom's face wouldn't let her abandon him. She thought of maybe saying something, but after his initial, angry realization of her presence, Tom seemed to have forgotten she was even there.

Before she could decide what to do, she heard the sound of feet charging down the stairs. Tom looked up, and B'Elanna slipped aside into the relative shelter of the breakfast nook. A older woman was in the lead, her light brown hair and navy dress near flawless despite her obvious distress and brittle expression. This was clearly the Paris matriarch.

"You can't keep living like this," Kathleen was insisting.

"It's not your decision to make, Kathleen," her mother said. She reached the bottom of the stairs and reached out for Tom to stop his pacing. "He's asking for you, darling. I still can't get him to take his medication. But he's asking for you - he'll listen to you."

"What are you talking about?" Tom's voice jumped an octave higher than normal. "He didn't know who I was! He kept calling me an imposter!"

"Mom, don't do this to him."

His mother didn't release Tom's arms or acknowledge her daughter. "It's just the yellow uniform. He still thinks you're command track. He knows you. Take your jacket off and try again. He'll listen to you."

B'Elanna saw the emotions and conflict flicker across Tom's face.

"You don't have to do this, Tommy. This isn't your responsibility."

"Kathleen." Her mother's voice was ice.

"It's fine, Kath," Tom said finally, as he shrugged off his cadet's jacket. "I'll try again. Mom's probably right." He jogged up the stairs before either woman could say anything else.

B'Elanna now knew leaving was the best thing, really the only thing, she could do. Unfortunately, Kathleen and her mother were standing between her and her escape route. She couldn't leave without calling attention to herself, and letting Mrs. Paris know how much she had seen and heard. She took a step back until she was deeper into the nook.

"You can't keep doing this to him," Kathleen said as soon as Tom was out of earshot. "You need to let him have his own life."

Her mother started wiping a towel across the spotless marble counter. "He _has_ his own life, Kathleen. He wants to be here."

"You guilt him into being here!" Kathleen exclaimed. "Just like you guilted him into leaving the Naval Patrol!"

"He wanted to come back to Starfleet. It was always the plan."

"Your plan! Yours and Dad's! Not Tom's, and you know it." Kathleen slammed her hands onto the counter. "You can't keep putting this on him! The Academy's only four years, Mom, and Tom could be on the other side of the quadrant when he graduates! You're just delaying the inevitable - Dad needs to be in a hospital!"

"Just because you have a medical degree, doesn't mean you know everything about your father's condition. We're not talking about this again," her mother said through clenched teeth.

"You're right," Kathleen said. "We're not. I can't watch you throw your life away, throw Tom's life away, anymore." She stormed out of the kitchen.

And then there was one. B'Elanna was just about to approach Mrs. Paris and damn the consequences, when Tom came trudging back down the stairs. B'Elanna bit back a growl when she saw his rapidly swelling eye, wondering at the surge of anger that flooded her when she saw he'd been hurt.

"Tom!" Mrs. Paris cried. "What happened?"

Tom shook his head. "It's nothing. It was my fault. I should have made sure he knew it was me." He waved a hypospray at her. "I got the meds in, though. He's a lot calmer now. You should go back up."

"Oh, darling. Let me take a look at your eye first." His mother reached towards his face, but Tom flinched away and she withdrew her hand.

"Really," he said, trying to smile at her. "I'm fine. Just… just go. Make sure he's OK."

She watched her friend as he leaned with his elbows on the expansive kitchen island, letting his head hang between his arms. Once Mrs. Paris was up the stairs and out of sight, B'Elanna emerged from her hiding spot. She considered just sneaking out, knowing he was likely too preoccupied to even hear her, but her conscience wouldn't let her. She knew what Tom would do, if their positions had been reversed.

"Tom?" she said. "I'd ask if you were OK, but…" She trailed off when he picked up his head to look at her, tears streaming down his face.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I got sort of stuck in the corner," she admitted as she moved to stand next to him, feeling a need to be closer. She thought about how she'd feel if she'd been caught in such a vulnerable state. She cursed herself for not slipping out when she had the chance.

"You got stuck in the corner?" He stared at her dumbfounded for several moments before he burst out laughing. The ridiculousness of the situation hit her a moment later, and despite her best intentions, she found herself laughing right next to him.

Tom had soon slid down the counter to rest on the floor, his shoulders shaking. B'Elanna wasn't exactly sure when his laughter changed to muted sobs, but, before long, she found herself rubbing his back in broad circles, desperate to do something to ease his distress.

When he finally quieted, his head buried in his knees, she broke the silence. "Tom, what happened? To your father?"

"The Cardassians," he said bitterly. "He was captured on his last mission. They held him for weeks. Tortured him. He never really recovered - there was some kind of brain damage, I guess. He has good days still, when he knows where he is, when he is. He could even give an occasional guest lecture at the Academy a year ago. But they're getting fewer and farther between."

"I'm so sorry," she said, still rubbing his back and marveling at the firm muscles of his shoulders. _What is wrong with me?_ _Now is not the time!_ She tucked the errant hand into her lap.

He took a shuddering breath. "Sometimes, on days like this, I'm the only one he recognizes. Even my mom… I don't really get it. It's not like we were that close, when I was growing up. He wasn't around much, you know?" He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it further. B'Elanna ignored a fleeting urge to smooth it. "My sisters think he should be in a hospital. Like a nursing home, basically." His voice took on a pleading, desperate tone as he met B'Elanna's eyes. "But he'll get worse, don't you think? Being in a strange place? I mean, it couldn't help, could it?"

"I don't know," she said, realizing that if she had even the first inkling of how to help him, she would do it in a heartbeat.

"God, I'm sorry," he said, looking away from her and wiping at his uninjured eye. "You don't need to hear all this. Let me call you a cab so you can get back to campus."

B'Elanna reached towards his bruised cheekbone, wanting to fix at least what little pain she could. "Maybe I should help you take care of that eye first."

He waved her off. "It's nothing. I'll just have someone at Medical look at it tomorrow."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why the hell not?" He stood and walked away from her.

B'Elanna got to her feet, and followed him to where he now stood at the other side of the island, staring out the window at the darkening evening sky. "Because the doctor is going to ask questions, have to file a report. I'm guessing you don't want a lot of people to know how it happened. Especially not at the Academy."

His shoulders drooped. "God, I'm so stupid," he said, shaking his head. "What the hell is the matter with me?" He looked up with a smile that was a pale imitation of his usual grin. "Thanks - for the offer, and for having more of a brain than I do. But you really don't have to stay. I'll take care of it myself."

"You'll sit down, and let me do this for you," B'Elanna said briskly, on surer ground now that she had a clear plan of action. "Come on, Paris," she added with a grin, "don't tell me you don't have a medkit somewhere in this massive house." Her heart lifted when she was rewarded with a smile several degrees closer to genuine.

A few minutes later, he sat on the bench in the breakfast nook, his leg bouncing, while B'Elanna passed the dermal regenerator over his swollen and purplish orbit. "Stop fidgeting," she scolded him, her nose picking up on the faint musk of his aftershave.

The leg stilled. "You're pretty good at this."

She tried to focus only on the rapidly dissipating bruising and not on how close they were to each other as she worked. "Growing up half-Klingon surrounded by humans - you get into your share of fights. Fights you'd rather your parents not hear about," she said, noticing belatedly how similar her words were to the ones she used during their recent argument. "I'm sorry, by the way, about yesterday. I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I know you were just trying to help."

"No, I'm sorry. I was being kind of a prick. Yesterday… It wasn't a great day. My mom and Kath had been fighting - again - about where my father should be, and they keep putting me in the middle." He heaved out a sigh and slumped against the wall, so that B'Elanna had to grab his chin to keep his face where she needed it. "Kath has a point, I know. Sometimes he gets so agitated I worry he's going to hurt her - my mother, I mean. Not on purpose!" he added, as if he were worried B'Elanna would have his father carted away. "But he doesn't always know who's he talking to. My mom doesn't care, though - she just wants him home with her, says he'd never hurt her. And I can see her side of it, too. Thinking about him being institutionalized - given the man he is, or was - it kills me, B'Elanna."

From what little B'Elanna had seen, the decision seemed obvious. But she suspected that wasn't what Tom needed to hear right now. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

His blue eyes blinked at her. "You staying," he murmured. "It's doing something. Thanks."

B'Elanna replaced the regenerator back in the case, and gave him a dose of an anti-inflammatory. Her hand lingered against the warm skin of his neck a beat longer than was strictly necessary. "All done," she said softly.

He cleared his throat and made to stand, to move past where she sat on the outside edge of the bench. "I'll call you that cab. I'm sure you want to run away as fast as possible from this place. God knows I do sometimes."

On impulse, B'Elanna grabbed his hand and pulled until he was once again seated next to her, their thighs brushing against each other. "I don't feel much like running, actually. What I'm feeling is kind of hungry. Your sister promised me dinner."

"Oh." His eyes were searching hers. "Sorry."

"You could redeem your family's honor, though," she continued, smiling and squeezing the hand she still held in her lap. "Take her place? Kathleen was thinking Korean, but it's not my favorite."

"Not mine, either." He moved his face a centimeter or two closer to hers. B'Elanna didn't pull away.

"How do you feel about burritos?" she whispered.

His mouth curved into a grin. "I like burritos just fine," he answered, his tone matching hers.

It wasn't the universe's most romantic prelude to a first kiss, B'Elanna considered, as she leaned in closer to press her lips against his. But she would take it.


	9. Chapter 9

**September 2371**

"I am curious, Mr. Paris, how you found yourself in the Maquis."

"Hand me that hyperspanner?" was Tom's only response to the Vulcan assisting him during his repairs of the _Val Jean_ 's navigation console. They were still hanging out in the Kavaria system, Tabor having located a convenient asteroid belt with an extensive cave system. Going into the Badlands with a glitchy nav system, even with Tom at the helm, was a recipe for disaster.

"You do not wish to tell me," the Vulcan surmised as he handed Tom the requested tool.

The pilot grinned at the fried circuit he was replacing. "You having trouble letting go of Starfleet, Tuvok?" he asked.

"I am not sure I follow your reasoning."

Tom popped his head out from under the console. "No one's called me 'Mr. Paris' since I went AWOL." He ducked back underneath so he could check for misfiring relays. "Besides, I could ask you the same thing. Why does a Vulcan join an out-gunned and outnumbered resistance that's probably going to get their asses handed to them by the Cardassians any day now? Sounds pretty illogical to me."

"And you sound 'pretty cynical' to me," Tuvok replied in his sonorous voice.

Tom chuckled at how the two of them had managed to dance around the conversation, neither revealing one iota of new information about themselves. Not an unusual occurrence in the Maquis - trust didn't come easy in this group, and the Vulcan had joined the movement not even a month ago. He clambered to his feet and tossed the hyperspanner back into the kit. "Good talk, Tuvok."

He took the pilot's chair and powered up the nav system. Tom had only been on the _Val Jean_ a couple months himself - the captain having lost his last pilot when this very console had blown up in her face. The cell Tom had been with for much of the previous year had had pilots to spare, and it's not like he formed a lot of personal attachments these days. He was fine with going where he was most needed.

But he had to admit, even for the Maquis, Chakotay's cell was a particularly odd mix. The captain, of course, was firmly in the bleeding heart group - along with Ayala, Gerron, and a dozen others that had been directly wronged by the Cardies. Then there were the troublemakers and the mercenaries: some, like Dalby, were looking for a fight and found one - only to get caught up in Chakotay's passionate defense of the DMZ and become full-on converts. A few were like Smithee and Jonas, who seemed to just be here for the latinum they couldn't manage to earn anywhere else. And then you had people like Lon Suder. Well, no one was really like Lon Suder. _Yikes_ , was the only thought that came to Tom's mind whenever he passed the Betazoid in the mess or the corridor. It was an unspoken rule that no one had to bunk with Suder for more than two weeks at a time. The man was too goddamned creepy.

Tom liked to put himself in his own category. Hard-working, skilled, reliable - and that's all anyone had to know. He didn't need to have long conversations about what he was doing here, or where he saw himself after the war, or if his mother had hugged him enough as a child. He just wanted to kill as many fucking Cardassians as he could before one of them killed him.

The console lit up, flashing a mix of white and green and red lights. "Just like a tree on Christmas morning." He grinned at where Tuvok sat behind him. "You got Christmas on Vulcan, Tuvok?"

All he got was an eyebrow raise as a reply. _Damn_ , Tom thought. _What a waste._ He and Bendera had an ongoing competition on how many eyebrow raises they could elicit from their newest recruit - but both men had to see it for it to count. Shame. That one would have put him in the lead, too.

"Paris!" a voice barked out at him. "You planning on getting that console fixed sometime this decade?"

Tom rolled his eyes. He really hoped Chakotay would re-open his door to Seska soon. The man was insufferable when he wasn't getting any. "How's right now sound, Cap?"

All he got in return was a grunt as the imposing man took the seat next to him, clipping Tom roughly across the elbow as he sat. "About time." He tapped in a few commands but only got a few dull clicks in response. "Goddamn it!" he shouted, slamming his fist onto the comm controls. "Hogan! What the hell are you doing down there? Why is the impulse drive off line?"

" _Sorry, Cap,"_ came the disembodied reply. " _The driver coil keeps overloading."_

Chakotay rested his forehead against his clenched fist. "It's like the whole fucking lot of you _wants_ to get caught."

"Tell him to try jacking up the resistance when the plasma enters the capacitance cell," Tom said calmly. Chakotay really did worry too much. He was going to give himself a coronary one of these days. Tom found being a nihilist did wonders for keeping his stress levels low. He didn't think his captain would think much of his philosophical suggestions, though. Especially not right now, when he looked like he was going to rip apart their cantankerous impulse drive with his bare hands.

"And what would you know about fixing impulse drives, Paris?" he glared, as if Tom's proposal was a personal insult.

"Can't fly a ship without an engine, Cap. I've picked stuff up here and there. All the best pilots do." A sudden and near overwhelming wave of _deja vu_ hit him. He shook his head, as if to dislodge the memory that had blindsided him.

Chakotay gave him a frown after he communicated Tom's idea down to Hogan. "You OK? You look like someone walked on your grave."

"I'm great," Tom said casually, thinking of the message he'd received yesterday morning, almost a month after it had been sent - it having been routed and re-routed through a dozen different channels to hide its ultimate destination. _Your father is at peace now, darling. We don't have to worry about him anymore. Stay safe._ "Never better."

"Chakotay," a new voice said, "You need to take a look at those torpedos we brought back. There's something wrong with the targeting mechanism."

Their fearless leader threw his hands in the air in disgust. "Of course there is. Because nothing can go right on this fucking rustbucket!"

Seska, the bearer of the bad news, came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "No reason to get so upset," she murmured in his ear. "Everything will be fine. We'll go look at them together. Maybe I can help you relax a little while we're at it."

Chakotay stood up with a lurch, throwing Seska off balance so that she practically landed in Tom's lap. "No. Stay up here with Paris, make sure the sensors are calibrated correctly for the Badlands." He jutted his chin at Tuvok. "You said you have weapons experience - time to earn your keep." The two men left the cramped bridge without another word.

Seska pouted as she climbed off Tom, taking the opportunity to rub herself suggestively against him. "What's up his ass these days?" she sulked.

"Apparently not you." Tom grinned at his console.

"Shut it, Paris." She glared at him while she settled herself at the sensor controls. "I don't get it. It's not like I want to get married. I just want to enjoy myself a little."

"'We're terrorists, Seska," Tom replied. "I don't know that enjoying ourselves is high on the list of priorities." Although Tom wasn't sure what had happened either. The two had been together when Tom joined the crew, and it seemed to work well enough for them both. He didn't really see the appeal himself - the Bajoran was by turns overbearing and unctuous - but she had balanced out Chakotay's intensity, not to mention all the anger that ran just under the surface.

She started tossing a hyperspanner in the air, her feet now propped up on the sensor console. "Yes, Paris, we all know - you're the poster boy for responsible behavior." She caught the 'spanner in her hand and sat up, leaning towards him. "Must be that fancy upbringing."

Tom's jaw tensed, but he managed to contain any other reaction. It's not like he made an effort to hide his identity - his desertion of the 'Fleet had been far too public for him to bother trying to keep a low profile. But that didn't mean it was an open topic for discussion.

"Yeah?" he drawled. "And what would you know about it, Seska?"

She reached over and started drawing a finger slowly up and down Tom's thigh. "Just what you can find in Federation records," she purred. "Fancy house on Earth, admiral for a grandmother, captain for a father. Growing up on Bajor we were lucky to eat every day. I can't imagine giving up the luxuries you must have had," she looked around at their battered environs, "for this."

"We all have our reasons for being here," Tom muttered through gritted teeth, fighting an urge to slap away her roaming hand like it was a pesky insect.

"But nobody really knows what yours are, Paris," she continued, arching her brow. "Your father - I hear he was quite the hero during the Cardassian Wars. The epitome of the noble Starfleet officer. What could he have thought when his son ran off to join the Maquis, I wonder?" Her hand had now wandered very far up his thigh. She started to massage the skin with her fingertips.

Until Tom clamped his own hand on her wrist and squeezed. "Back the fuck off, Seska."

She pulled against him. "Tom, that hurts," she said with a pained gasp.

He released his grip with a jerk, as if her skin had burned him. He stared at the red marks on her wrist. "I'll take care of the sensor calibration," he mumbled to his console. "Get out of here."

"You're a real asshole, Paris," she snarled at him as she stomped off the bridge.

"Yeah," Tom said to himself as he looked at his shaking hands. "I know."


	10. Chapter 10

**April 2365**

"I'm not sure I like you two being friends," Tom complained mildly as he munched on a grissini. He and Kathleen were waiting for B'Elanna at a small Italian place not too far from the Academy. "It feels like two against one more often than not these days. And I'm not on the right side of the equation."

"Get over it," replied his sister, throwing an olive at him.

Tom caught it mid-air and popped it in his mouth. "You're just mad you didn't ask her out first," he said cheekily, then ducked when an entire breadstick came hurtling towards his head.

"Sometimes you two act like you're both about twelve years old," B'Elanna commented as she approached their table. She was holding the projectile grissini. "Good thing you got an outdoor table."

Remembering the manners his mother had pounded into him over the last two decades, Tom rose from his seat in greeting. He then promptly forgot those manners when B'Elanna pulled on the front of his shirt for a kiss. They eagerly pressed their mouths together, Tom letting the spicy notes of her perfume wash over him.

Kath chose to give them a rather rude reminder of their surroundings and a second flying olive hit him on the side of the head. "You guys better come up for air, or I'm going to have to pull out my medkit."

B'Elanna's hand pulled out of reach when Tom tried to arm himself with the breadstick she was still holding. "Truce, you two," she said, shaking her head. "We're in public."

Aiming what he hoped was a particularly ferocious glare at his sister, he pulled out a chair for B'Elanna. He straightened when a stiff breeze hit the little restaurant's patio. "Is it warm enough for you out here?" he asked. "I can get us an inside table if you want."

"It's fine, Tom," she replied, rolling her eyes but giving him a smile at the same time. "I have a jacket on."

"Right," he said, sitting back down and handing her a menu. Kathleen whispered something in her ear, likely at his expense, that made B'Elanna throw her head back and laugh. Despite what he'd said to his sister a moment ago, and despite the fact that much of their bonding seemed based on giving him a hard time, he was happy to see the two of them becoming so close. B'Elanna had been happier this semester, and, while he believed a good part of that was their own relationship, he hoped that some of it was her finding her footing at the Academy, too. Kathleen's friendship had been a big help in that regard.

Even though his sister hadn't gone to the Academy, she had gone through Starfleet Prep as he had (Moira had put her stubborn and fashionably shod foot down and had attended a high school for the more artistically inclined), and all of the Paris children had been indoctrinated into the 'Fleet lifestyle from a young age. Maybe it was because Kathleen was nearly a decade older, or maybe it was that B'Elanna didn't feel the same sense of competition with her that she did with Tom - but the younger woman was much more open to hearing advice from his sister than Tom himself. He didn't mind, though. Whatever made B'Elanna feel more comfortable on Earth was OK by him.

"Do you two want to join me?" Kathleen said at the end of lunch. "She's a great speaker. You find out a lot more about the situation than you'll ever see in the media."

"Maybe," B'Elanna said. "I'll be honest - I don't know much about what Bajor's like, before or after the Occupation. Might be interesting."

"Are you two nuts?" Tom nearly spit out his final mouthful of pasta. "B'Elanna - we'd be expelled, or at least suspended. The Federation has a strict non-intervention policy on Bajor. Which means the 'Fleet has an even stricter policy."

"We can't even hear this women speak?" B'Elanna asked, incredulous.

"Considering she's basically advocating for guerilla warfare against the Cardassians - no," Tom answered. "Honestly, Kath, I'm not even sure you should go."

"Don't start with me, little brother," Kath said, standing. "I get enough of it from Mom. I gotta get to the hospital for my overnight. See ya."

"I'm worried about her," he confided to B'Elanna as they walked back to campus. "I don't like what's happening to Bajor either, but some of the people she's following - they're pretty extreme."

"At least they're trying to do something," B'Elanna said. "Unlike the almighty Federation Council. I don't know how they can sit by and let the Cardassians destroy an entire civilization like they are."

"They're not letting them do anything," Tom said, his voice rising. "The Federation has been in conflict with the Cardassians for almost two decades. It's not as simple as sending a few ships to Bajor and we'll send the Cardies packing! We'd be at a huge disadvantage, militarily speaking, and don't think the Cardassians won't use the Federation border colonies as leverage."

"Tom, I didn't say-"

"And if these idiots Kath keeps talking about think some little homegrown militia is going to sail in there and help the Bajoran Resistance throw off the oppressors, they're insane. The Cardassians will wipe the floor with them."

"No one thinks-"

"It's not going be easy, or pretty, or nice, B'Elanna; and a lot of people are going to die. Badly and painfully, and I'm not OK with my sister being one of them!"

"Tom!"

He stopped in his tracks, and turned to see that B'Elanna was over a meter behind him, her arms crossed. "What?"

"Oh," she said, an eyebrow rising. "I'm allowed to speak now?" At his apologetic grimace, she closed the distance between them. "Look," she said, "I get this is a sensitive topic for you. But does it occur to you that it is for Kathleen, too? And maybe she's just dealing with it differently than you are?"

"But-" he protested.

"Hey," she said more gently, taking his hand. "Your sister is a smart woman and I wouldn't exactly call her impulsive. Just because she's going to hear some people speak doesn't mean she's going to run off to become a freedom fighter."

Tom sighed. "Sorry. I guess I'm overreacting a little, huh?"

B'Elanna looped her arm through his and started them back on their path to campus. "Just a little. I'll forgive you this time. You may be surprised to hear this, but I also have been accused of overreacting. Just once or twice."

Tom chuckled and kissed her hair, thanking whatever lucky star or benevolent deity had brought her into his life. Tom had never lacked for friends, or girlfriends, or even the occasional boyfriend when he'd felt the urge - but his relationship with B'Elanna was different. Having spent his entire childhood in a household that frequently hosted Starfleet brass, alien diplomats, and various other notables, Tom had been trained from an early age in the art of putting other people at ease - and how this often meant suppressing one's darker impulses and truths. Keeping things light, presenting a charming, pleasant exterior - these things were second nature by the time he'd graduated from high school.

B'Elanna Torres had no interest in this superficial version of Tom Paris, however. From the night that she'd witnessed firsthand the horror show that was his home life, Tom realized she was much more interested in the person that lay hidden deeper inside. He had soon found himself confiding in her all sorts of things he had long buried, even from his sisters - his shame about running away from his father's illness to join the Naval Patrol; his feelings of inadequacy when he'd considered that going command track would mean constant comparisons to his father, his grandmother, and the half dozen other 'Fleet luminaries that shared his last name; his anger at his mother and Kathleen for their constant battles about his father, and at Moira for barely acknowledging a problem even existed. And B'Elanna had patiently listened to all of it with no judgment or facile suggestions on how to fix things, just unwavering compassion.

Tom realized it sounded crazy - they'd known each other for not even eight months, and had only been together for three - but he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman. He'd never been so sure of anything in his life. Except, perhaps, the certainty that if he told B'Elanna his vision of their future together, she'd likely go running for the hills and never look back.

So this was one thing he wasn't going to confide in her. Not yet.

"When are your parents supposed to get here?" he asked her as they neared the Academy.

B'Elanna's voice took on a rare bright tone. "A little over two hours. And it's just my dad. My mother changed her mind about coming."

"Oh," Tom said, frowning. "I didn't realize. I'm sorry. I was looking forward to meeting her."

B'Elanna dropped her arm from his, and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. "It's fine. It'll be easier with just Dad. My mother doesn't care much for Earth. She'd probably just spend most of her time complaining about the weather, or the food, or something." She looked up at him with a grin. Tom wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so excited. "You're going to love my dad, though. He's great."

"He'd have to be." Tom returned her smile. "How else could he have such an amazing daughter?"

"Shut up," she said, shaking her head but laughing all the same.

Honestly, Tom was a little nervous about meeting John Torres, given that his daughter seemed to worship the ground he walked on. He'd been surprised a few weeks ago, when B'Elanna had finally shown him a picture. Given how enthusiastically she extolled her father's praises, Tom's brain had created an image of a rugged man that was two meters tall with shoulders as broad a mountain and flowing ebony hair. Essentially, a Klingon without the ridges. He had just barely suppressed his startled laughter when he saw the holo-photo of the completely average-looking middle-aged human, who had passed down his pensive brown eyes to his daughter (and looked to be a good deal shorter than Tom was).

He _was_ curious to meet Miral, though. As much as B'Elanna liked to talk about her father, her mother was lucky to get a passing mention - a complaint about Day of Honor rituals (which B'Elanna was quick to clarify she didn't really observe anymore), a remark about the terraforming work Miral did as a biophysicist. Even Kathleen and his mother seemed to have a closer relationship than B'Elanna and Miral had. Tom wondered why she had decided not to come. He also wondered why B'Elanna hadn't mentioned it until now - given how long it took to get here from Kessik on public transport, and that John was scheduled to arrive in two hours, it seemed unlikely that she hadn't known for at least a day or two.

"He won't have a lot of time," B'Elanna was saying. "He's got to be at the conference in Anchorage in the morning. But I thought we could walk around campus and visit his old haunts, maybe show him the Warp Mechanics lab - I want him to see the project I'm working on - and then we can get some dinner."

"Mexican?" Tom asked hopefully. It had been a while since they'd gone to their favorite place.

"Uh-uh." B'Elanna shook her head dismissively. "He grew up in Oaxaca, remember? Nothing we'll get in San Francisco will be authentic enough. We should do seafood. You can't get fresh seafood on Kessik, and I know he likes it."

Tom's brow furrowed. "But you hate fish. You hate even the smell of fish. You won't even let me order fish when we go out."

She shrugged. "It's one night. I just want to make sure he gets a good meal while he's here."

They reached his dormitory first, and stopped in front before Tom headed upstairs to cram in some studying. "You sure you want me to tag along?" Tom asked her. "Maybe you want some time alone with him? I don't mind."

B'Elanna beamed at him and tilted her face up for a kiss, nipping at his lower lip before she pulled away. "I'm sure. I can't wait for the two of you to meet. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

But, when Tom approached her dormitory two hours later, he could see her excitement and happiness were gone. B'Elanna's arms were wrapped tightly around herself, despite the unseasonably warm weather, and she was slouched on the bench by the walkway. The man Tom knew to be John Torres was standing nearby and appeared to be pleading with her.

"I'm sorry, B'Elanna, but we haven't seen each other since graduate school!" Tom heard him say. "I didn't know she was going to be there until this morning."

"I don't understand why you can't get dinner with this woman tomorrow," B'Elanna said to the ground. "You can't wait one more day?"

"The conference is jam-packed with meetings and lectures," John said. "We won't have much time for socializing at all. It's not like the two of us aren't spending any time together. I don't have to leave for almost an hour. You're not really upset about this, are you, Little Bee?"

 _Of course she is, you jackass! She's been looking forward to seeing you for weeks!_ Tom cleared his throat. "Uh, hello? Mr. Torres? I'm Tom Paris." He flashed his trademarked winning smile, particularly useful when one needed to hide an impulse to punch someone in the nose.

"Tom!" Mr. Torres cried, grasping the proffered hand. "Very pleased to meet you! Please, call me John. B'Elanna has told me so much about you. Not that your reputation doesn't precede you, or your family's reputation at any rate."

"Dad!" B'Elanna looked up at that, shooting an apologetic look at Tom.

John seemed to miss his daughter's comment and how Tom's mouth thinned at the remark. "As you might have heard, I don't have as much time in California as I had originally planned. But I'd love to meet your parents sometime - especially your father. He was quite the hero when he was on active duty. I'm surprised he retired rather than join the admiralty. He'd really be an asset."

"Maybe your next visit," Tom said, concentrating on keeping his smile fixed firmly in place. He mentally thanked his mother for her impeccable example on hiding animosity behind a bland tone and an even blander expression. "I hope you have time to at least go to the Warp Mechanics lab. B'Elanna's project is really incredible. Professor Chapman thinks it may even have enough promise to be considered for a future engine design."

"Oh," John said, his eyebrows drawing together. "I wanted to walk around campus a bit, see how things have changed since I was here - I've got some great stories for you, Tom - but sure, we can stop by the Warp Mechanics lab."

"We don't have to," B'Elanna muttered as she stood, still keeping her eyes mostly on the grass.

"Of course we do!" Tom interjected before John could agree with her. "You promised to explain it to me. Again. Maybe I'll even understand you this time," he added with a wink when she peered up at him. Tom felt a small bubble of pleasure when she smiled at his joke, but he didn't miss that it wasn't much more than a hollow imitation of the joy she'd exuded earlier.

An hour and a half later, he sat on the same bench B'Elanna had occupied earlier, waiting for her to return from the transit station. He shivered a little. The warm afternoon sun had long disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and the day had cooled off rapidly as it faded into evening. He tried to remember if B'Elanna had still had her jacket on.

He'd begged off walking to the station, claiming it was so the two of them could have some father-daughter time; the truth was he was tired of forcing himself to laugh at the other man's stories. John seemed to have spent most of his visit talking about himself or asking Tom about his life and family, despite the younger man's many attempts to redirect the conversation back to B'Elanna. She, on the other hand, had been uncharacteristically subdued. It wasn't so unusual for her to be quiet, ("Will you can it, Paris?" was a frequent request when they studied together), but Tom had never seen her look so… small.

"You're still here," B'Elanna said when she arrived back at her dorm.

"Of course," he said with cheer he didn't feel. "I figure even if your dad can't come, we can still go out for dinner. And look on the bright side - now we don't have to get fish!"

She smiled at him, but her eyes still look dulled. "I don't know. I'm still kind of full from lunch. Can I take a rain check?" She started to edge towards the door of her dorm.

Desperate to lift her downcast expression, Tom jumped up and took her by the hand. "Wait!" he said. "We don't have to do dinner. Ren's gone until tomorrow - we can go back to my room. Talk, or just hang out." He took a step closer and brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. "Whatever you want," he promised.

Her free hand tugged on her lower lip and she kept her head turned partially back towards the dorm, as if weighing her options. He fought an urge to wrap her in a hug, afraid that if he rushed her she'd bolt. Finally she turned back to him, and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch as she met his eyes. "Whatever I want, huh?" she whispered huskily, and Tom saw a little of her spark reappear. She reached up to caress his face, and he felt a shiver of anticipation as she dragged a finger along his jawline.

Ten very long minutes later, they'd made it across the quad to his dorm and Tom found himself being shoved backwards onto his bed. Dizzy with longing, but also with her sudden change of mood, he clutched her hands to still them as she tried to rip open his jacket. "B'Elanna," he panted, "wait."

"You said whatever I want," she growled as she nipped at his neck, "and I don't," one hand pulled free, "want" then the other one, "to wait."

Much later, when Tom's higher brain functions were back online, he lay next to her naked form, lazily tracing patterns along her spine. "That feels nice," she mumbled into his pillow.

"Good," he said, smiling as his hand reached the perfect curve of her lower back. Tom debated with himself whether he should say something, ask her if she wanted to talk about her father's visit. He thought back to all of those stories she told him about John Torres, and how they were now shaded with an anxious yearning he hadn't noticed before. He also thought of similar nights in the recent past, when they'd lain in the dark on this bed or hers, and she'd listened to his fears about his father and his mother and his future.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. "Your father, I mean?"

Her muscles tensed. She pushed off her stomach so that her back faced him, and pulled the blanket up over her hips. "Nothing to talk about," she said. "He was busy. Plans change."

"It's OK," Tom said, soldiering on, "to be disappointed. I know you were looking forward to spending time with him."

What happened next occurred so suddenly he couldn't understand how she'd done it. Within seconds he was again flat on his back, but this time with his hands pinned down by hers, up past his shoulders. "If I'm disappointed," she said with a feral grin, "it's because the only thing you're doing with that luscious mouth of yours is talking."

And with that, all thoughts of John Torres very quickly flew from Tom's mind. After all, he had promised her whatever she wanted.


	11. Chapter 11

**September 2371**

" _Already impressing the captain, huh, Torres? See - I knew this could be a good fit for you."_

B'Elanna smiled as she thought of how Jora had greeted her at this morning's engineering briefing. She couldn't think of another time a commanding officer had had anything but criticism for her. Even Carey had given her a polite nod when they'd passed each other in the corridor.

And now Captain Janeway had asked to meet with B'Elanna one on one. As she stood outside the ready room waiting for admittance, she chastised herself for her nervousness. For once, she knew she wasn't in trouble - what was there to be worried about?

"Enter," Janeway's throaty voice called.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" B'Elanna asked after stepping into the office. She assumed an attention stance as an afterthought.

"Please, Ensign," Janeway waved her over to join her at the couch. "Have a seat. Tea?"

B'Elanna sat. She looked down at the dainty beflowered cup she'd accepted automatically and tried to hide her disgust. Tea always just looked like dirty water to her. "Thank you, Captain."

"B'Elanna," the older woman started, then paused. "Am I pronouncing that correctly?"

 _Well, no. But considering my Starfleet career depends on you,_ B'Elanna thought, _you're pronouncing it just fine._ "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm looking forward to seeing how your suggested sensor modifications work out later today," the captain continued, smiling at her. "Really, it's an inspired idea."

B'Elanna forced herself to smile back. "Thank you." This was getting weird. Starship captains didn't call low-level engineers into their ready rooms to compliment them on a single good idea.

"You're probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you, " Janeway said, leaning towards her.

 _Well, duh._ "Yes, Captain."

"You're familiar with our mission."

B'Elanna looked at the older woman. It wasn't a simple statement, she realized. Was it some kind of test? "Of course. We're going to extract a Starfleet operative embedded in the Maquis and hopefully apprehend some of the resistance members as well."

Janeway's steady gaze seemed to be studying her. "The resistance, Ensign? I feel like that term implies they have justification for what they're doing. As I'm sure you're aware, Starfleet considers them a terrorist organization."

Clearly she was right about this being a test. B'Elanna hadn't put much thought into her phrasing, but if Janeway was concerned that she was sympathetic to the Maquis cause, she wasn't entirely wrong. It was frankly abhorrent to the engineer that the Federation thought it was OK to trade away people's homes without consulting them like they were so many pawns on a chessboard. Why shouldn't they fight back? Honestly, if a few things were different, she could see herself joining up. She'd tried to talk to her parents about it once, but John had shushed her so quickly and thoroughly you would have thought stating a hypothetical amounted to full on treason. Despite what her father seemed to think sometimes, though, she wasn't an idiot - Janeway didn't need to know any of this.

"Yes, of course. I didn't mean to imply anything by my word choice. I fully support Starfleet's position on the Maquis," she said. Quite diplomatically, she thought - her father would have been proud. Maybe.

"I'm glad to hear that, B'Elanna," Janeway continued, standing now. "Because I'm hoping you can help us."

B'Elanna wondered if all conversations with Janeway would feel like she was three steps behind. How could an engineer possibly help capture Maquis insurgents? Aside from keeping the ship running, that is? "What do you need, Captain?"

The older woman was staring out her viewport now, still sipping her tea. "I've heard that you are - or were - close to the Paris family. Specifically Tom Paris. I'm sure you're aware he deserted and joined the Maquis? It was all over the newsfeeds last year."

B'Elanna tried to suppress a sudden feeling of queasiness. That's what this was about? Janeway thought she was a Maquis sympathizer because of her ex-boyfriend? Her career was now suddenly on the line because of someone she dated five years ago? "Captain," she said, trying not to sound too defensive, "I promise you - I haven't seen Tom since before he joined the Maquis. The last time we spoke was over a year ago."

Janeway turned then and sat down next to B'Elanna on the low couch. "Don't worry, B'Elanna," she said, placing her hand over the half-Klingon's, "I'm not accusing you of anything. I know it's been a long time since your relationship ended. I'm just hoping you can give us some insight into his character, his motivations. He's become something of a major player in the Maquis - attached to a variety of different cells - but the reports we've gotten are very conflicting."

And then Janeway proceeded to rattle off a list of words that didn't sound anything like the man she used to know. _Mercenary. Volatile. Drunk. Reckless. Violent._ B'Elanna listened to the intel reports in stunned silence.

"We've tried to speak to the Paris family," Janeway said. "But unfortunately they've closed ranks. Julia told our officers that she won't do anything to assist in the detainment of her son, and the rest of the family has followed her lead."

B'Elanna looked up when she realized Janeway hadn't spoken for a long moment. The look on her CO's face was distant. Pensive. "Captain?"

Janeway looked up, a slight grimace on her face. "My apologies. You see, I served under Owen Paris some years ago. He was something of a mentor to me." She paused, staring into the delicate cup she cradled between her hands. "It was only because of his actions that I wasn't taken prisoner by the Cardassians. I almost certainly owe him my life."

B'Elanna hesitated before she responded. "Was that when he was captured?"

The older woman nodded. "You know what happened to him, then?"

"I…" she started, thinking to explain how much she knew. How the Tom she'd known had been devoted to Owen Paris. How he had agonized over the best way to care for his ailing father and had sacrificed so many of his own desires and ambitions to help his family. But what would that accomplish? It sounded as if that man might not even exist anymore. So she answered with a simple, "Yes."

"Then you understand," Janeway said, a hard line to her mouth now, "how despicable I find his son's actions. For the son of Owen Paris - a man who dedicated his whole life to Starfleet, the Federation - for him to reject everything his father stood for... His sacrifices…" She took a deep breath. "I want him in my brig, Ensign."

B'Elanna could only shake her head. "I'm sorry, Captain. If there was anything helpful I could tell you… But nothing you've said sounds like the Tom I knew."

Janeway stood again, moving to the lower level of her ready room. "Well, it was something of a long shot," she said, her tone resigned. She smiled at B'Elanna again. "I suppose I should count my blessings that you've turned out to be an asset to the engineering department anyway."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," B'Elanna said, her eyebrows furrowed. Except as soon as the words left her mouth, she did understand. Everything Jora had told her - that she remembered her from the _Herschel_ , that she'd been impressed by her work at the Academy - it had nothing to with why she was on _Voyager_. She was only on _Voyager_ because she had once dated a member of the Maquis. _Of course. I could never get a posting like this on my own fucking merit._ She replaced her still-full tea cup on the tray with a loud clatter, splashing its contents on the captain's low table, and stood. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance, Captain. Am I dismissed?"

Janeway cocked her head at her, her forehead creasing. "Is something wrong, Ensign?"

"No, ma'am," she said, staring fixedly at a point just beyond Janeway's right shoulder.

The captain's expression softened. "I think I understand. Sit, B'Elanna. Please."

She took her seat again, but this time remained perched on the edge of the cushion, her spine ramrod straight. She certainly didn't pick up her stupid tea cup. Janeway joined her back on the couch.

"You have to realize that your performance record isn't exactly pleasurable reading," she started.

"Yes, Captain," she replied as she studied the drops of tea pooling on the surface of the table.

"If you're assuming that your connection to Tom Paris is a large part of the reason you got this posting... I'm not going to lie to you - you're right. It's very important to me that we accomplish this mission, B'Elanna - both to get my security officer back and to stop the Maquis. I am going to use every possible tool at my disposal and I won't apologize for that," Janeway stated, her tone brooking no dissent.

B'Elanna tried to contain a snort of disgust. She was only partially successful.

"But that doesn't take away from the fact that Commander Jora wanted you in her engine room," Janeway said more gently.

B'Elanna looked up at that and met her CO's eyes.

"She lobbied quite vigorously for you," the captain continued, "to the point of being annoying. And that's saying a lot, really. I'm normally very fond of her." Janeway smiled. "She was the one that dug up your past relationship - being Betazoid, she knew that it would be the thing that convinced me it was worth taking a chance on you. I'm hoping you prove her right. You've made a good start."

B'Elanna's jaw worked as she considered her response. She was still angry, she couldn't deny it. But she thought of something her mother, of all people, had once told her. _Destroying an empire to win a war is no victory. And ending a battle to save an empire is no defeat._ B'Elanna had been livid at the time - fourteen years old, her high school parrises squares coach insisting she play rear sweep instead of forward in favor of an older but inferior player. B'Elanna had stormed home from practice, telling her mother she was going to quit in protest.

Miral had listened to her complain for a long while before calmly sharing the Klingon proverb with her, then asking, "How will your 'protest' prove to your coach he is in error?"

B'Elanna had stayed on the team and had been moved to the forward position only two weeks into the season.

"I hope I prove her right, too," she finally said to Janeway.

"Glad to hear it," the captain said as she stood. "We should be entering the Badlands in less than an hour. Why don't you head down to engineering and see if you have any other brilliant ideas once we get there?"

"Aye, Captain," B'Elanna replied smartly, jumping to her feet. "And thank you."

* * *

 **A/N:** Fun fact! I named B'Elanna and Jora's former ship the _Herschel_ for Caroline Herschel - a German astronomer who was the first woman paid for her contribution to science (at least according to Wikipedia...)


	12. Chapter 12

**January 2366**

"The answer is simple, _Saj_. You must adjust the conduit configuration," Miral stated, her face filling up nearly the entire monitor. No matter how many times B'Elanna had told her the comm system worked just fine even if the user was a meter or more away, her mother insisted on sitting directly in front of her console, her eyes boring into the camera as if it were an enemy she was trying to stare down.

B'Elanna bit back a sigh. The noise had always irritated her mother, nearly as much as eye rolling. ("Sighing is such a human mannerism, B'Elanna. It signals capitulation. Klingons do not sigh.") "It's not that simple, Mother," she said. "My professor is not just going to let me change something that is used almost universally in all other 'Fleet vessels. The regular conduit set-up is standard for a reason. The Engineering Corps Board of Standards believes the current one is the most practical for working vessels."

"Convince them otherwise," Miral declared. As if a second-year cadet could just march into Vice Admiral Sonn's office and suggest they change the entire 'Fleet's EPS configuration on her whim. No, not a whim, B'Elanna corrected herself. A carefully researched and tested theory that she knew would work if her bull-headed professor would just look at her computer modeling, but still…

"They're not going to listen to me, Mother," B'Elanna said, the sigh slipping out after all. She saw her mother's eyes narrow. "I'm just a cadet."

"You are not _just_ anything!" Miral insisted. "You are B'Elanna, granddaughter of L'Naan of the House of Korath! You are descended from some of the greatest Klingon scientists in _Qo'noS_ history! You will make them listen!"

"Miral," B'Elanna heard her father say from a corner of the room. "She's not on _Qo'noS._ She's on Earth. So, like it or not, being human is going to help her a lot more than being Klingon." His voice was dripping with condescension. Great. Her call was going to trigger them to have yet another fight.

In the year and a half since she'd come to Earth, B'Elanna had yet to find a satisfactory solution to the problem of calling home. For as long as she could remember, Miral and John's marriage was one that was fraught with tension. She remembered the first time she had had a sleepover at her friend Malee's house and her surprise when she saw the friendly and affectionate way the other girl's parents engaged with each other. Apparently, in most homes, it was normal to have both parents home at the same time, for families to share meals as a single unit, for the adults to speak to each other without shouts and insults.

B'Elanna's childhood, on the other hand, sometimes made her feel as if she grew up in two different households. It's just that they happened to share the same physical space and were run by two people that were ostensibly married to each other. It was rare to see her parents even speak civilly to each other; B'Elanna couldn't recall ever seeing a moment of real caring or love passing between them. When she was a small child, she would occasionally hear noises from their bedroom that to her young ears sounded like more fighting – just with fewer words. She'd been horrified when, at age ten, she realized exactly what those sounds really represented, but even that interaction seemed to have mostly stopped by the time she left for the Academy.

She had asked her mother - after her acceptance letter to the Academy arrived and B'Elanna had become worried about what would happen to her parents once she was gone - if Miral was happy with her life as it was. Miral had replied that her work was highly satisfying, even if battling an inhospitable planet was not the same as fighting a more traditional enemy. When B'Elanna clarified that she specifically meant her marriage, Miral became uncharacteristically reticent. Her family's tradition was that Klingons mate for life, she had said, and that was that. She added, after a long pause, that she would honor the commitment she had made of her own free will, and that regret was a wasted emotion.

B'Elanna never had the courage to ask John why he stayed.

All this meant every call home was a potential powder keg. Calling when she knew both parents were likely to be home resulted in the two of them having an argument more often than not. She'd quickly grown weary of calling them at separate times each week, having to repeat all the same information for each parent. For a period of time, she tried alternating each week which she would speak to. That had resulted in a hurt and angry letter from Miral the first week, when B'Elanna had only spoken with John; then, in week three, when it was John's second turn, he'd been short with her, having felt slighted the week before.

So, it was back to calling when they were both home. John had now negotiated the comm console away from his wife, who had stormed out of the room in disgust, barely remembering to say goodbye to B'Elanna before she departed. "Your mother doesn't understand Starfleet," John said as soon as his face appeared on the monitor. "If your professor doesn't think the configuration is practical, you should really defer to her. There's probably things you aren't considering."

"But that's the problem!" she exclaimed. "She won't even look at it! I'm not saying it's perfect, but it's just a design project! It's not like we're planning on building it at the end of the semester! You'd think she'd be happy we're being creative and trying something new!"

"B'Elanna," her father admonished her, "you're shouting."

She looked down at her lap and chewed her lip. "Sorry."

"It's fine, sweetheart," John said. "But I can understand why your professor isn't listening to you if this is how you've been talking to her."

B'Elanna's fists clenched below the desk, out of her father's sight. "This _isn't_ how I've been talking to her. In fact, Tom's been doing most of the talking, and he's not getting anywhere with her, either."

"Tom?" her father asked. "I didn't realize he was working on the project with you. How are the two of you doing? After being apart last semester?"

Odd, a corner of B'Elanna's brain pondered, how when she spoke with her mother she wanted to engage in so many human behaviors – the aforementioned sighing, eye rolling, and the like. Now that she was speaking with her father, she felt an urge to pick up the nearest breakable object and hurl it at the screen.

"I didn't call to talk-" She stopped. It didn't really matter what she had called to talk about. Sometimes B'Elanna thought John was more invested in his daughter's relationship with Tom Paris than she herself was. "We're fine, Dad. It's good to be able to spend time with him again."

And it was. For the most part.

She'd gone to Mars last summer for the second year extended physical training semester – a common choice for those on the Engineering track, as they all hoped they'd get to meet and ideally impress the higher ups at the Shipyards. She assumed that Tom would choose Mars as well - from the day they'd met he'd expressed interest in getting a position at Utopia Planitia. As she'd learned more about his family problems, she had realized this was at least partly so he could stay in the same system as his parents after graduation. So she'd been surprised when he'd told her last June, apologetic and hesitant, that, in fact, he'd be spending the semester in Alaska.

"Of course I understand, Tom," she had said when he'd told her - repeatedly promising he'd call often and telling her he'd already checked the shuttle schedule between Earth and Mars. And she did understand. His father's condition was poorly understood and unpredictable; Tom needed to be within transporter range of San Francisco. The retired captain would have days or even a few weeks where he seemed quite well - B'Elanna had met him during one of these periods, and had been impressed and even a bit intimidated by the man's intelligence and breadth of knowledge about all things Starfleet. But then something would trigger him - it might be as simple as a news story mentioning the Cardassian Union, or it could be a former colleague paying a visit - and he would revert to the angry, frightened and confused man that he had been the first night B'Elanna had stepped foot inside the Paris home. Of course Tom would prioritize looking after his parents over their relationship – he had to. It would be selfish of her to feel otherwise.

"No fighting, then?" her father was asking. "You're getting along OK, now that you're back on the same planet?"

"We're getting along fine, Dad," she said with a sigh. At least it didn't irritate John as much as it did Miral. "No more fighting than usual."

"What does that mean?" John said, with a hint of alarm.

"Nothing," she laughed at the worried expression on her father's face. "Tom and I are always fighting - you know, the best place to get breakfast, whether he should help me put my coat on, who's parisses squares team is better - normal stuff. That's just what we do." Which was true. Except the fighting seemed to be a larger part of their relationship than it used to be. But that was probably to be expected after so many months apart, right?

"B'Elanna," her father said slowly. "You need to be careful. No one wants every conversation to be an argument."

B'Elanna raised her gaze to the ceiling and huffed a short breath of air. _Believe me, Dad, after twenty years of watching you and Mom, I don't want that, either._ "That's not what we-"

"I'm just saying," John interrupted, "that you're very lucky to have Tom. He's a great person. And I think he's been a good influence on you. You don't want to drive him away."

"I know, Dad," she said. "Don't worry. We're good. Really."

It wasn't that she didn't feel lucky to have Tom in her life, she thought as she closed down the comm window a few minutes later. He _was_ a great person, and he seemed to understand her, or at least tried to understand her, in a way that no one else had before. It was just… It would have been nice if her father thought Tom was the lucky one, instead.


	13. Chapter 13

**September 2371**

"Another plasma storm is forming ninety degrees starboard," Tuvok said, his voice calm and sure as always. "It is of considerable magnitude."

"Got it," Tom confirmed, adjusting his course with a few quick taps. They'd been flying through the Badlands for about twenty minutes now; still at least an hour out from the planetoids in the Terikof belt, depending on how many more course changes he had to make. He still had his reservations about the Vulcan, but, Tom had to admit, it was nice to have a co-pilot that knew how and when to keep his mouth shut.

"Tuvok." Chakotay's voice interrupted the quiet as he stepped onto the bridge. "I need you to take a look at the photonic mines we brought on board. Jonas thinks the trigger devices are too touchy - he's worried they're going to blow earlier than we want 'em to." The captain came to stand between the two of them. "I'll take over for you here."

"What's wrong?" Tom asked once Chakotay had settled into the seat. One thing Tom had learned very quickly about the Maquis leader - there was always a method behind his madness. They weren't using those mines anytime soon. He wanted Tuvok off the bridge for a reason. The only question was, was that reason Tuvok? Or was it Tom?

"Why do you think anything's wrong?" Chakotay said, giving the pilot a sidelong glance. "Maybe I just want to watch the master at work."

Tom snorted. He knew Chakotay fancied himself a talented pilot, but Tom could fly literal and metaphorical circles around him. The captain didn't have a big ego about many things, but he sure as hell did about this - Tom had heard all the little dismissive noises Chakotay would make when any of the other Maquis complimented the younger man's skills at the helm. No way was he here to pick up flying tips.

But if that's what Chakotay wanted to pretend, Tom was happy to play along. Anything that could delay the inevitable "talk" he sensed was coming. Who would have guessed that one of the most feared commanders in a terrorist organization would have delusions of being a counselor? Ugh. Tom much preferred "royally pissed off" Chakotay to the "understanding" version. If he didn't have to focus so much on his flying at the moment, he'd probably break some vital ship part just to distract the other man from his mission.

Chakotay warned him of a gravimetric shear that was coming up fast to port, but, beyond that, the two men worked in silence for several minutes. Tom's leg started to bounce as they passed into a relatively calm area of space. Despite his initial desire to put off whatever conversational bone Chakotay wanted to worry, he was now starting to think the anticipation might be even worse.

"I was talking to Seska earlier," said Chakotay, in a tone that tried too hard to be off-handed.

 _And there it is._ "Oh?" Tom replied, trying to look like he was concentrating very hard on plotting vectors he could calculate in his sleep. _Damn it._ Clearly the captain had waited until they reached the Badlands to approach him, knowing Tom would be trapped at the helm with no outlet for retreat. "Just talking? Or are you two back on?" Just because he was trapped didn't mean he couldn't launch a few torpedos of his own.

"No," Chakotay grumbled. "We are not."

More silence. It couldn't be that easy, could it? If Tom could keep his mouth shut a few minutes longer, would Tuvok re-appear and he'd be off the hook?

"Too bad, really." _Goddamn it, mouth! What the hell is the matter with you?_ "You two were a cute couple." Tom felt the heat of the glare the captain had turned on him but continued to stare fixedly at his console.

"Are you capable of actually talking to me? Or do you only communicate in snide comments? What the fuck's your problem?"

"We don't have that kind of time," Tom drawled. "You want to narrow things down for me a little here, and I can tell you which specific problem of mine is the issue?"

"Seska says you attacked her," Chakotay said, his voice tense. "She said you made her fear for her life. She thinks you're a loose cannon - that you're dangerous and can't be trusted."

Tom said nothing. He supposed Seska had left out the part about her unwanted exploration of his crotch, but it didn't matter. She may have inflated what had happened, but he couldn't blame her for being pissed. It's not like he was proud of how he'd reacted.

"That's not all," Chakotay continued. "You want to hear the rest?"

"If I say no, will it make a difference?" he asked, compensating for a nasty gravimetric field being emitted by a nearby eddy. "And, by the way, can you keep your eyes on the sensors during this little inquiry?"

Chakotay returned his attention back to the sensor readings, but it didn't stop him from talking. "She also thinks you're a traitor," he said.

Tom wondered if any of the planetoids in the Belt had a good dentist. He suspected he had just cracked a molar his jaw was clenched so tight. "Well, then, she and the Federation have at least one thing in common."

"God, Paris!" Chakotay barked, his fist stopping just short of slamming into the currently very important sensor console. "Seska accuses you of being a spy for the Feds, and you turn it into a damn joke! You don't have anything to say for yourself?"

If Tom wasn't so damn busy keeping the ship from being torn apart by plasma storms, he would have gladly stormed off the bridge. "You want me off your fucking ship, Chakotay? Fine by me. Cut me loose once we get to the belt, and you and Seska can ride off into the sunset together all you damn want."

"Is that what you really want, Tom?" the older man asked, his tone suddenly quiet.

The pilot hazarded a quick glance at him. The anger had faded from the captain's expression, and now he just looked genuinely curious. "No," Tom admitted. "I want to… I mean, I don't mind it here - flying for you. But you've known her a lot longer than me. It's what makes the most sense."

"Unless she's spying for the Cardies," Chakotay said. "Which I think she might be. I've had my suspicions for a while now. Another storm coming up at coordinates eleven point oh six."

Tom's brow creased as he adjusted his course. "She's Bajoran."

"She is," the captain agreed. "And plenty of Bajorans worked with the Cardassians during the war - made the Occupation easier on the occupiers. My guess is some of them still are." Tom felt Chakotay's eyes studying him. "I know who you are, Tom, and why you're here - even if you'd rather keep your reasons to yourself. Cal Hudson and I have been friends for a long time."

Tom bit the inside of his cheek. And changed the subject. "You really think Seska could be working for the other side?"

"Stranger things have happened," Chakotay said. "At any rate, my eyes are wide open. I know there's more to her accusation than either one of you is telling me. I also know which one of you I can trust. I don't let just anyone fly my ship."

Tom smirked. "You really want to claim that hill as yours when you just admitted to having a possible Cardassian spy on board?"

Chakotay shook his head and let out a small snort of laughter. "She's right about one thing, Paris. You really are an asshole." He looked down at a new indicator light on his console. "That's odd."

"What is?"

"We were just scanned," Chakotay said, pulling up the sensor logs. "Some kind of coherent tetryon beam."

"Could it be the Cardies?" Tom started, but then looked up from the readings on his console in alarm at what was suddenly filling their viewscreen. "What the fuck is that?"

Chakotay was frantically scanning through the sensor readings. "I don't know! Some kind of massive displacement wave! Go around it!"

"How?" Tom shouted back. "It's too fucking big!"

"Go to warp!" Chakotay commanded, spinning to the engineering station next to him.

"We can't! The plasma field will tear us apart!" Finding even his considerable piloting skills utterly useless at the moment, Tom flipped on the ship-wide comm system. "All hands brace for impact!"

And the world turned white.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Just wanted to give a big shout out to all the people that are reading, but particularly to those that have been commenting on chapters as they read. I live for feedback, so thank you!

* * *

 **February 2366**

Tom sighed as he regarded the numerous PADDs spread out on the library table in front of him. B'Elanna was going to kill him.

When he convinced his girlfriend to register for this Engine Design course with him, neither one had imagined it would be taught by one of the most hidebound instructors at the Academy. He just thought it would be a fun class, and it would give the two of them an excuse to spend some time together after so many months apart. But the professor was about a hundred years old, and she apparently thought all worthwhile engineering innovation had died along with Montgomery Scott. Tom _had_ thought it odd that a couple of second years could get into an elective that usually attracted many final year engineering students. Turned out there was a very good reason Dr. Anytus' section was so open.

After a somewhat... heated discussion between B'Elanna and Anytus at the beginning of the semester, Tom suggested perhaps he should take the lead on professorial interactions about the impulse drive they'd teamed up to design. Not that he found the woman any less odious than his temperamental partner - he was just a lot better at hiding it. Fortunately, not all people were as immune to Tom's well-cultivated charm as B'Elanna was. After lots of flattery and other cajolery, (he'd gone so far that he felt like he needed a hot shower after their last meeting), he'd managed to convince Anytus to give them two weeks to work on their design as they wanted - if she was sufficiently impressed, she'd let them complete the semester-long project using their proposed deviations from the standard EPS configurations.

But now that meeting was three days away, and he'd made almost no headway on the numerous tasks B'Elanna wanted him to complete. She was being a bit of a dictator about the whole thing - he'd come up with dozens of ideas to improve engine responsiveness, top cruising speed, acceleration; but she'd shot down almost all of them: not practical, not efficient, not important. Instead she'd cherry picked a few of the design elements he'd come up with (and none of the really flashy ones!) and had given him lengthy lists on how to change them so she would deign to include them. This was the part of engineering he hated - fussing around with calculations, running computer sims over and over again to correct variances that were barely significant. _Ugh_ , he thought as he tossed the PADD he'd been staring at blankly for fifteen minutes back on his pile, _who cares about this crap?_

"I'm pretty sure the crew members that would be blown to smithereens if you don't fix these things will care, Tom," B'Elanna had said with a long suffering expression when he'd mentioned how little this sort of thing interested him.

He had somehow replaced a long list of plasma flow aberrations he was supposed to correct with a pictorial history of race car designs from the 20th century when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped at the sudden contact, a primitive part of his brain convinced it was his girlfriend catching him off-task, then let out an embarrassed chuckle of relief when he realized it wasn't B'Elanna, but rather her roommate from last year.

"Sorry." She smiled, green eyes blinking. "I didn't mean to startle you. What are you working on?" She took the seat next to him and pulled closer to peer at the PADD.

He thumbed off the PADD before she could see evidence of his procrastination. "Oh, nothing interesting," he replied with a smile. "It's Danielle, right?"

"Danica," she corrected with another toothy smile. She picked up one of his discarded PADDs. "Is this a new impulse drive schematic? Are you taking Engine Design?"

"Yeah. Anytus' section." Tom grimaced as he leaned back in his chair. "Much to my everlasting regret."

Danica pouted in sympathy. "I've heard she's stuck in the Dark Ages. I don't understand why she still gets to teach."

Tom rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Got me. It's not for her innovative thinking, that's for damn sure. Maybe she's got incriminating vids of the Commandant?"

Danica laughed louder than his small joke warranted and lightly touched his hand. "You might be onto something! Now, what are you working on?"

Deciding he could use all the help he could get to plow through his assigned work, he showed her the plasma flow issues. Danica was happy to help, she said. Her subspace geometry lecture had been canceled, and she had an unexpected free hour. He had a hard time believing flow calculations were really her idea of a good time, but Tom was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and this meant he could get cracking on the driver coil assembly.

"Wait," Danica said suddenly, ten minutes into their work, "B'Elanna Torres is your project partner? Are you two still…?"

"A couple?" Tom finished, as he rotated the driver coil schematic around in his attempts to make heads or tails of what B'Elanna wanted him to do. "Yeah, we're still together. Over a year now, actually."

Although Tom was beginning to wonder how much longer that was going to be true. He'd done his best to make the physical distance between them inconsequential - comming her as often as their schedules aligned, frequent letters to fill in the gaps. And it seemed to work at first - trading stories about their respective tyrannical instructors, commiserating over various aches and pains that were the day to day reality of Academy physical training. But, as the weeks and months went by, B'Elanna became less available to talk and Tom found less time to write.

When they were finally back on the same planet, Tom held out hope that they'd renew the connection they'd had during their first year. And, physically speaking, their connection got renewed within about fifteen minutes of their reunion. Several times, actually. But, on a more personal level, something was missing. She seemed guarded with him now - he could almost physically feel her pulling away from him. Hence his suggestion of pairing up for the Engine Design class. Not that that idea was turning out quite how he had hoped - mostly what it had done was highlight his academic shortcomings.

"Huh" Danica was saying. "I guess I just assumed… When you didn't go to Mars for physical training…"

"The distance wasn't a lot of fun, but we made it work. Good practice for after graduation, after all." _God. Who am I trying to convince, anyway?_ "You sound surprised."

She shrugged, looking back down at the PADD. "I am, I guess. You're so friendly and social, and B'Elanna is so…"

"Focused?" Tom supplied, forcing a smile. _Or was there something else you were trying to say, Danica?_ Prior to his relationship with B'Elanna, he had, like many Terrans, seen Earth and the Federation in general as a tolerant place - accepting of all species. But his eyes were now becoming open to the fact that much of that acceptance existed in theory only and not in practice.

Her return smile matched his in sincerity. "Focused is a good word."

"Danica?" They both turned to see B'Elanna approach the table.

The human woman stood quickly, tossing the PADD back on the table. "Hey, B'Elanna. How have you been?"

One short and superficial exchange of pleasantries later, and Danica was on her way. "What were you talking to her about?" B'Elanna said as she watched her erstwhile roommate's retreating form, her eyes narrowed.

Tom shrugged. He knew B'Elanna and Danica had never really gotten on. No need to reopen old wounds. "Not much. She was asking about the design class."

B'Elanna snatched up the PADD Danica had been holding. "You didn't show her any specs, did you? What was she doing with this?"

"It's just the plasma flow calculations you wanted me to correct," he sighed, reaching up to reclaim the PADD. "What's the big deal? It's not like she's taking the course with us."

B'Elanna kept her hand firmly on the PADD until Tom released it. "The big deal is… God, Tom! You've only done the first one!" she exclaimed as she reviewed the numbers. "Please tell me you've at least fixed the driver coil assembly."

"I've started to," he said, a bit sheepishly. Probably best not to mention it was actually Danica that had corrected that flow calculation. He started riffling through the half dozen PADDs in front of him. "But look! I did get the conversion sensors all squared away!"

She flipped on the proffered PADD, but, by the way her knuckles whitened as she gripped it, it was clear that, once again, she wasn't thrilled with the quality of his work. "Now what's wrong?" he asked, bracing himself for a litany of complaints.

"This is a picture of a race car," she muttered through gritted teeth.

Or she had just caught him goofing off again.

"Oops," he said, quickly finding the correct PADD. "Try this one."

She didn't take it. "Three days, Tom."

"I know."

"This means a lot to me. To my GPA. I'm finally starting to make an impression on the Engineering faculty. If we have to start all over again…"

"I know."

She slammed the PADD in her hand so hard onto the table that the others jumped several centimeters into the air. "Then why can't you take it seriously?" she demanded.

"I am!" he insisted. God, why couldn't she focus on the work he _had_ done instead of latching onto every way in which he had failed? "It's just… It's a lot. I needed a little break, is all."

"Oh, well by all means, please take one," she snapped. "I can just see it now, 'Sorry, Chief. I'll shut down that unstable warp core in a few minutes. I just need to take a fucking break first.' I should have known better." She started collecting the PADDs on the table, chucking the offending race car PADD at his chest.

He rubbed a hand against his temple. _Don't ask, Paris. Just let her walk away and blow off some steam. Don't. Fucking. Ask._

"Meaning?" _Damn it._ It was like his mouth had a mind of its own sometimes.

"Meaning you have the attention span of a six-year old! Meaning I take on twice as much work as you do and still have to fix yours when you're done with it!" She was near shouting at this point, and the librarian gave them a dirty look.

Flashing an apologetic smile at the irritated Vulcan, Tom pulled B'Elanna down to sit at the table. "Look, I'm sorry. Really." he said. He took a breath before continuing. It was an excuse, and he knew it, and, on top of that, it was one he'd used many, many, times before. But it was also the truth. "It's just… I was at my parents' last night, and I'm worn out. I'm doing the best I can, I swear."

Her face softened, but she didn't loosen her grip on the PADDs. "I know you are," she said finally. "That's what I'm worried about." She bit her lip, then handed Tom one of the PADDs back. "Just deal with the driver coil assembly. I'll take care of the flow corrections." Another pause. "I'm sorry about your dad, Tom. And I'm sorry how much your mother puts on you. You know I am. But… I need for this to be important to you, too."

"B'Elanna…" he started to say as she got up and strode out of the library. He was just going to chase after her when his comm device alerted him to a message. _Shit._ It was from his mother.

 _I'm sorry to bother you again, Tom, but can you come back to the house this afternoon? I have to go out, and there's no one else that I can trust to stay with him. You're the best, darling._

 _\- Mom_

Ten minutes later he was sitting in a hovercar on its way to Pacific Heights, frowning at the driver coil schematics again. He still had no idea what he was supposed to do with them. With a sigh, he threw the PADD back in his bag. That was the worst part of all of this _._ B'Elanna was right: he was a pretty crappy engineer.

His advisor had met with him at the end of first year, telling him his performance in the engineering core classes weren't quite what the Academy was hoping for. His grades in his foundation requirement courses were quite good; he'd done very well in his astrophysics coursework back at Starfleet prep. Perhaps the engineering track wasn't the best choice for him?

"It just doesn't seem like you're playing to your strengths, Tom," the elderly half-Betazoid had said with considerable compassion. Because, of course, she knew Tom hoped to get stationed on Mars after graduation, and she also knew why. Sometimes it felt like the entire fucking campus knew why.

He should have just walked away right then - told his advisor she was right and he was in the wrong track. It's not as if he even liked most of the engineering courses he had to take. Who knew that learning about something that enables ships to fly faster than the speed of light would be so incredibly dull? In his head, he'd always imagined himself tinkering around with a fancy new shuttle engine, his uniform stained with coolant; or maybe on his back in a Jefferies' tube, re-routing plasma relays to prevent a warp core disaster and save the ship at the last second. He just hadn't realized there was so much _stuff_ to learn to get to that point.

He had laughed to himself, although not with much humor, as his advisor continued to look on, concerned and waiting for a response to her recommendations. What he really wanted to be, it occurred to him, was an engineering technician. That would go over great, he thought to himself. _Hey, Dad! Assuming you actually know who I am today, I wanted to let you know I'm dropping out of the Academy. No, don't worry! I'm not leaving Starfleet! I'm going to_ enlist _! I'll be a crewman like you always dreamed!_

If that didn't send his father well and truly over the final deep end, Tom didn't know what would. So he didn't drop out, and he couldn't quite make himself admit defeat and switch back to command track as his advisor had encouraged. Instead, he promised he'd try harder and agreed to take extra courses while he was in Alaska for physical training - his secret reason for staying on Earth. He hadn't told his family the whole story, and Kath had been furious that he hadn't taken away their mother's safety net like she had hoped. "Maybe she would finally get it that he shouldn't be at home, Tom! You can't keeping fixing this for her!"

He'd let B'Elanna assume he was staying for his parents as well. He had been too humiliated to tell her the truth.

His mother left the house within minutes of his arrival, vague about what she needed to do. Tom suspected sometimes she just needed to be anywhere else but home with his father, and he couldn't really blame her. The expansive Queen Anne felt more like a prison these days, instead of the stately home it was. At least it was a quiet place to work. So he sat on the couch in his father's study, pouring through his various course syllabi, hoping for a clue on how to fix the infernal driver coil assembly. His dad was having a sort of middling day - he didn't seem to be aware of Tom's presence nor Julia's departure, but he wasn't agitated or fearful either. Since his son had arrived, Owen had been mostly sitting quietly at his desk, looking at a book of antiquated maps Moira had given him on his last birthday.

So Tom was surprised when a sudden shadow appeared over his workspace. "What is that?" his father asked, in a voice far softer and less certain than the one his son remembered from his childhood.

"Just something for school," Tom said, smiling at him. "Engine Design. We're trying to make an accelerated driver coil, but the manifold keeps overloading. I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong."

Owen took the PADD with the schematic and stared at it for a long while. Tom assumed that was the end of the conversation and went back to his search for answers.

"You should tighten up the resistance as the plasma enters the capacitance cell." Owen said, breaking the silence as he handed the PADD back, gesturing with his thumb. "Here. And here, too. That should help."

"Thanks," Tom said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice as he reviewed his father's suggestions. "That might actually work. I didn't know you had that much engineering know-how."

Owen stood then, making his slow, shambling way across to the windows that overlooked the rose garden. He waved at Tom dismissively. "There's no ship without an engine. You pick things up, here and there. That's what the best captains do, anyway. My son, though. That's the one you should talk to. His name is Tom."

"Oh, yeah?" Tom said, his voice steady but his heart clenched in a vise. "You think he can help me?"

Owen nodded, although he didn't turn away from the window. "Yes. He's an engineer now. He's very smart. I wanted him... I wanted him to be something else, but now he's an engineer. Doesn't matter, though. He's very smart. He can do whatever he puts his mind to."

He went to stand by his father and looked through the drizzle at the dormant rose bushes. Julia had fallen behind on her pruning. Tom should find a gardener for her. "Your son," he said after a while. "You really think he's that smart?" He hoped his father was out of it enough that he didn't hear the emotion bleeding from his voice.

"Yes," Owen said simply. "I'm worried about him, though."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not sure I ever told him - that I was proud of him." Tom noted the tears on his father's cheeks. Tears he'd never seen fall even once before the Cardassians. "Do you think he knows?"

Tom swallowed hard, managing to choke out a response to reassure his father. "Sure he knows. You don't have to worry about that. He knows."


	15. Chapter 15

**September 2371**

B'Elanna entered Engineering, which was already bustling in anticipation of entering the Badlands. She was technically off-shift and had been hoping to use the time to send a quick letter to her mother before they went in - communications were strictly prohibited once they got close to the DMZ and she was feeling guilty they hadn't talked before _Voyager_ left DS9. But Janeway had specifically told her to come down here - it's not like she could just not show up. Looking around, however, she had no idea where to go, or if Jora needed, or even wanted, an extra body around.

"Torres!" the Chief shouted from her position near the core. "Over here. I've got a job for you."

B'Elanna joined Jora for instructions. "We won't be able to go to warp once we're in the Badlands, but that doesn't mean we can ignore the core," the chief told her. "The plasma fields are so powerful in this area of space, they can sometimes affect the pressure levels in the reaction chamber. If we don't keep a close eye on it, we'll be at high risk for microfractures. Think you can handle it?"

Despite the fact that this was the most responsibility she'd ever been given in an engine room in her entire career, B'Elanna didn't feel even a second of doubt. "Not a problem, Chief."

Jora flashed a smile at her. "Good woman. Carey!" she shouted up to the second level as she moved onto her next task. "Get down here!"

Carey was soon stationed at a neighboring console. B'Elanna bristled at his approach, but tried very hard to not assume he was there to supervise her work.

"I'm here if you need help, Ensign," Carey said, glancing over at her. She gave him a cautious smile in return. His look of mild concern made B'Elanna suspect that it hadn't gone quite as planned. "Only if you need it," he added quickly.

Jora buzzed around the engine room, checking on her crew here and there. Considering the group had only been together a few days, she had them all working like perfectly placed cogs in a very well-oiled machine. B'Elanna marveled at how the woman managed to have a quick smile and a friendly word for each one of her staff, while still managing to offer suggestions and make gentle corrections. She shook her head a little - she could never do the other woman's job. She'd probably have half the engineering team bolting for the blast doors if she was in charge for even an hour.

"All right, people," Jora called out. "Bridge says we're about to enter the Badlands. I've got an open comm link so we can keep track of what's happening, but take your orders from me directly, got it? You all know what your jobs are."

B'Elanna listened intently as the bridge crew discussed the Maquis' likely path through the Badlands. Her brow furrowed when she heard Harry Kim announce that _Voyager_ had just been scanned by a coherent tetryon beam. She bit her lip when he added that a massive displacement wave was moving towards them, and fought an urge to smack her forehead when the XO tried to disperse the wave with a gravitron particle field. She looked up to see Jora roll her eyes and throw B'Elanna a knowing smirk. She clenched the sides of her console when she detected the note of panic in the conn officer's voice as the pilot counted down to impact.

And then chaos took the day.

B'Elanna was thrown across the room, landing hard against a bulkhead. Just as she started to right herself, the room pitched again and rolled her across the floor. When her world stopped spinning, she turned her head only to meet Jora's lifeless eyes and burned body - she'd clearly taken the brunt of the explosion of the plasma flow console. Sparks were flying from a dozen separate directions. Vapor leaked through a ruptured conduit. A human woman screamed, clutching at a leg twisted underneath her at an unnatural angle. A young Vulcan staggered drunkenly across B'Elanna's path, green blood streaming from his ear and nose. She crawled to the guardrail surrounding the warp core and pulled herself to standing.

"Commander!" she heard Carey shout and turned to see him shaking the chief's body in desperation. Before she could stop his useless gesture, she heard her workstation start to alarm.

 _Fuck._ The reaction chamber. Jora had been right to be concerned about the pressure levels, and B'Elanna had had to baby the core within seconds of entering the Badlands. In the maybe five or ten minutes she'd been otherwise occupied being battered by the unstable starship, the dilithium reaction had raged out of control and core stability had gone to shit.

"Carey!" she barked at the man who was slowly regaining his feet. "We've got problems here!"

He hit his comm badge as he made his way to her, announcing their status and the chief's death to the captain. "We've got to stabilize all systems, Torres. Deal with that leaking EPS conduit."

"Fuck the conduit," she snapped. "The warp core's going to breach!"

"I am your superior officer, Ensign! You will not speak-"

" _Warning,"_ intoned the dispassionate voice of the computer. " _Warp core microfracture detected. Breach imminent."_

Carey leapt to action, B'Elanna's insubordination forgotten. "What's the warp core pressure?"

"Twenty one hundred kilopascals," B'Elanna yelled over the chaos. "We've got to lock down the magnetic constrictors!"

"No!" Carey shouted back. "If we lock them down at these pressure levels, we may never reinitialize the dilithium reaction! We need another solution!"

"There _isn't_ another solution!" She glared at him. "If we don't get the reaction rate down, the core will blow! You do it or I will, Lieutenant!"

Carey stared back at her, the shouts and cries of their fellow engineers fading into the background. He gave her a short nod and turned his attention to his console to input a command. "Constrictors online."

B'Elanna held her breath as she watched the pressure read outs from the reaction chamber. _Come on, come on, come on._ "It's working!" she cried. "Eighteen hundred kilopascals and holding!"

Carey let out the breath that he, apparently, had been holding as well. He gave her a shaky smile. "Good work, Ensign."

Janeway strode into Engineering, pinning up her hair. "What's our status?"

Carey turned to her. "All systems stabilized, Captain. Or on their way to being-"

With a flash, he and Janeway disappeared right before B'Elanna's eyes. Before she could reach for her comm badge, B'Elanna disappeared, too.


	16. Chapter 16

**February 2366**

"Humans!" Miral snarled. "You all surrender so quickly. The first sign of resistance and you run. You teach your daughter to be a coward."

Another week, another fun-filled call to the family homestead. B'Elanna resisted a desire to slam the monitor shut on her shouty parents. Would it be wrong to bury her head under her pillow as she had many times during her argument-heavy childhood?

"I'm teaching her," John barked back, "to get along with people. Something her mother could learn as well."

Her mother's face appeared so suddenly and completely on the console that B'Elanna nearly jumped out of her seat. "B'Elanna. You know my opinion on what you should do. I trust you will handle this situation with honor. Until next week."

John's face, flushed with anger, reappeared as B'Elanna listened to her mother's heavy footfalls as she stomped out the room then slammed the front door of their small house. "Part of being at the Academy," he started, using visible effort to keep his voice level, "is learning how to do what's needed, and not necessarily just what you want to do. Following orders. Working within prescribed parameters. You took a risk, and it didn't work out. The consequences are now you have to start over. It's a good lesson for you."

"The lesson being that Starfleet is run by a bunch of rigid bureaucrats that can't appreciate a good idea even if it bit them in the ass?"

John tilted his head to the side in a look of disappointment with which B'Elanna was long familiar. "B'Elanna. It's that kind of attitude..."

Her eyes glazed over as her father's voice droned through a lecture she'd heard many times before. Yesterday's meeting with Anytus hadn't gone well. B'Elanna had been fairly satisfied with the design schematics she and Tom had prepared. There were still rough spots, to be sure, (Tom had made some progress with the driver coil assembly, though it was still a weak point), but she had felt confident going in that their ideas warranted further consideration.

Anytus didn't agree. So now the two of them had to start their project from scratch, over a month in the hole. The whole fiasco had given B'Elanna second thoughts about her relationship with Tom. She didn't just mean their academic one.

Yes, he was kind, and he made her laugh, and he was able to weather her many moods. But wasn't he holding her back, just a little? Just like he had said that first day they met? He worked hard, but only when he felt like it; he was clever enough, and certainly creative. But it was all so unfocused - one minute he had a brilliant idea on how to improve the impulse manifold, the next thing she knew he'd moved on to working on increasing maneuverability using a new thruster configuration - all interspersed with him running home the second his mother snapped her fingers. And he still wouldn't spend time really learning the basics - she felt like half their study time together was her reviewing concepts with him that he should have long mastered or looking over his work to make sure it was correct.

And maybe being so committed to each other at this point in their lives didn't make much sense anyway. It's not like there were any guarantees of where they would be assigned after graduation. Despite his lackluster engineering skills, she suspected Tom had a good chance of landing that UP position he wanted – one word from his mother and the brass would take pity on the Paris family and what being a captain in the 'Fleet had taken from the paterfamilias. But B'Elanna, having utterly failed at making any connections during her time on Mars, could end up anywhere – a station near the edge of Federation space, a deep space exploration vessel – and then they'd have to split up, right? What was the point if they only saw each other once or twice a year? Tom would certainly want to end their relationship then, if not before.

It wasn't that she didn't care about him, or that she wasn't grateful for all the help he'd given her when she'd been trying to find her way through her early days at the Academy. But maybe they'd both come to rely on each other too much. Maybe it was time for her to do this on her own and stop assuming he'd be there forever.

"So what does Tom think?" her father was asking her through the comm. "Does he think you should just start over?"

"What?" B'Elanna said, distracted by thoughts of how Tom would react to ending their relationship. He'd probably be relieved - grateful that she proposed a break up before he had to. He got bored with everything else after all - why not her, too? "Oh, the project? No, he's as annoyed as I am. He wants to meet with the Engineering dean to see if he can get Anytus to reconsider, but I told him that was a bad idea."

"Why did you do that? That seems like the logical thing to do," John said, his expression perplexed.

B'Elanna just stared at the screen. Every time she spoke with her father, she got the same advice – You need to go with the flow, B'Elanna. Stop challenging everyone, B'Elanna. You're not always right. Wait your turn. Give someone else a chance to talk. But if Tom Paris wanted to raise a fuss: well, apparently that was A-OK.

"I've gotta go, Dad," she said, her pulse quickening in her anger. She was afraid of what she would say next if she didn't sign off. "I have a ton of work. I'll talk to you next week." A quick exchange of "love you's" and she shut the monitor.

Ten minutes later, she was still glaring at the closed console, taking deep slow breaths in a futile attempt to reduce her ire, when the door chime sounded.

"Hey," Tom said, poking his head through her now open door, his usual stupid smarmy grin in place. "Good news. Chaudhary agrees with us - she's going to tell Anytus to review our design as is. We don't have to start over."

B'Elanna slowly turned her chair to face him, his smug expression only fueling her anger. "What the hell are you talking about?" she said through gritted teeth.

Tom's brows drew together as he came the rest of the way into her room. "I told you I was going to do this at breakfast - I met with Chaudhary to discuss our project. We've got good ideas, and Anytus should give us a chance! We'll be behind all semester if we have to start over again."

She stood then, fists tightly clenched. "You told me you _wanted_ to meet with Chaudhary. And I told you it was a bad idea."

His eyes rolled. "I know you what you said, but I disagreed. And obviously I was right, as now we're getting what we both wanted. What's the problem?"

God, he was so fucking patronizing. She threw her arms in the air as she started to pace the small room. _Why were all these dorm rooms so damn small?_ "The problem is I specifically told you not to do something, and you did it anyway! You didn't even discuss it with me!"

He threw himself onto her bed. "Give me a break, B'Elanna. Like you're ever willing to 'discuss' anything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Tom had sprawled out, his feet on her blanket, boots and all. "It means that once you've made up your mind about something, that's it. I might as well talk to a wall as try to get you to listen to me." He let loose a frustrated sigh. "Why can't you just appreciate the fact that I saved us a month of work, instead of focusing on the fact that you don't like how I did it?" he asked her, his head flopping back onto her pillow.

Which she promptly whipped out from under him. "Hey!" he whined in response.

"Get your stupid, filthy boots off my bed. I just cleaned up in here."

"Yeah, great job," he drawled as he sat up, gesturing at a pile of dirty laundry half hidden under her desk.

B'Elanna was done - she'd had it with his condescending smirk, and his cavalier attitude towards his studies, and pretty much everything else about his arrogant, entitled ass. The gloves were coming off.

"I'm surprised" she said through clenched teeth, "you were able to convince Chaudhary of anything, since you barely understand what we're doing."

"And there it is!" he exclaimed, standing now. "When all else fails, insult Tom's intelligence. I contributed plenty to this project, B'Elanna. Stop acting like you did all the work."

"Oh no," she sneered. "I certainly didn't do all the work. Just the hard work. The work that requires having a more than basic understanding of propulsion. The work that most engineering students have to do to pass, if their last name isn't Paris."

"Screw you. I can't help what my last name is, B'Elanna. And you know very well it's not important to me. You're just pissed that I was right about talking to the dean."

"I'm pissed," she yelled, "because maybe if you'd put in a little more effort, we wouldn't have even been in this position! Maybe if you'd fixed the damn driver coil like you promised, Anytus would have let us move on without you having to involve the fucking dean!"

His eyes narrowed. "Anytus was never going to accept the project, because she's a narrow-minded old shrew. And you didn't help anything by marching in there, phasers blasting, looking for a fight on the first day! Why do you have to be so damn self-righteous all the time? God, B'Elanna if she didn't already…" He stopped suddenly, averting his gaze. "Forget it. I'm leaving."

She grabbed his arm before he could make it out the door. "If she didn't what?"

"Nothing," he muttered. "I said forget it."

B'Elanna was happy to finish his thought for him. "If she didn't already hate Klingons, she does now," she said flatly. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

He still wouldn't look at her. "That wasn't… I didn't say that."

"Oh save it, Paris! You think I don't know what people say about me? People like _Danica_? Is that what you were talking about in the library? Commiserating over how annoyingly _Klingon_ B'Elanna can be?"

His head snapped up then. "I told you what we were talking about, B'Elanna. The only thing I was commiserating about was what a pain in the ass Anytus is. I have _never_ had an issue with you being half Klingon. So why don't you stop projecting your insecurities onto me? I'm not your damn father."

Normally when someone said something to piss her off, she ran hot. She felt like her blood was going to boil right over. This time, however, an icy cold calm settled over her. "What did you just say?"

"For someone so smart, you sure are dense sometimes." He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. "You think I don't know how he talks to you? 'Don't be so loud, B'Elanna! Don't be so passionate, or smart, or strong!' He's the one that hates you being Klingon, not me. He's the one that's so unhappy in his marriage that he takes it out on his own daughter."

"Get out of my room." If she'd ever drawn a line in the sand, it was well-crossed now. Her voice dripped menace.

Tom just stepped closer. "No. It's time you heard this. You're constantly fighting yourself, fighting the person you are, on some pointless quest to make him proud of you. No wonder you're so pissed off all the time. But let me tell you something - it's not fucking worth it!" He laughed a little then as he turned away from her. "Why did you think meeting with Chaudhary was such a bad idea, huh? Is it because your father told you it was? What if you called him right now and told him I was going to meet with her? What would he say then?"

She was fighting something right now, all right. She was fighting an urge to rip that damn superior look off his face. She took a step towards him. "I told you to get out."

"Nothing you do is going to make him happy, B'Elanna," Tom said, standing his ground. "Because he's a miserable little man trapped in a loveless marriage, and you can't change that."

"Shut up! You don't know anything about me, or my father, or my parents' marriage! You're just angry because your father is fucking useless vegetable that barely knows his own name anymore!"

The words spewed out of her before she had even fully formed them in her mind. She felt ill when she heard them. The color had drained from Tom's face, accentuating the bright blue of his irises. She rocked back on her heels, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice hushed. "I was mad. I shouldn't have said that."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at his boots. When he looked up again, his expression wasn't angry, to B'Elanna's surprise. He just looked sort of… resigned. "No," he said softly. "Probably not. I guess we've both said a lot of things we shouldn't have." He kept looking at her, his mouth slightly open as if he was going to continue, but, instead, he turned on his heel and walked out without another word.

"Tom…" B'Elanna said, but not very loudly. She stepped back from the door and sat down on the bed, brushing absently at the coverlet where he'd put his boots. He probably just needed some time to cool off. She did, too, for that matter - as if Tom Paris had any right to comment on her relationship with her father! It's not like he was the poster boy for healthy parent-child dynamics.

And if it was more than him cooling off? If his walking out of her room was more final than that? Well, that was OK, too, right? She had just been thinking of ending things herself, after all. But it probably wasn't - the end, that is. They'd had plenty of fights before, and Tom always got over them first, laughing and teasing her until he got her to admit she wasn't mad anymore. Hell, knowing Paris, he'd probably be back before curfew, hat in hand. And she'd apologize again, too. He'd said some awful things about her father, but it's not like she'd exactly taken the high road.

B'Elanna spent the night alone.

The following day she got a message from Anytus. Cadet Paris has elected to drop the class and take an Incomplete, it read. B'Elanna could also take an Incomplete, or attempt to finish the project on her own; the latter was not recommended.

The next time she saw Tom - not for nearly a week and from the other side of the quad - his uniform had been changed out to command red.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** This chapter has a lot of references to Caretaker. I won't call them spoilers, because if you haven't even seen the first episode of the show, why would you read this thing? : )

* * *

 **September 2371**

The images running through his brain were disjointed and muddled. A sharp pain in his head when the displacement wave hit and he slammed into a bulkhead… His father's face, frightened and confused… A rainforest, where a genial-seeming man had a smile that wasn't quite right… His father's fist, coming too fast for Tom to avoid… A needle aimed at his chest, and Tom being powerless to move as it pierced his skin… A Cardassian laughing at him… A terrified little girl… His hands, covered in someone else's blood...

Tom's eyes flew open.

The lights overhead were bright and unfamiliar. The faces ( _Not human. Not Cardassian. Who?_ ) hovering above him were silent, and their hands were holding him down. He tried to make sense of the memories still flickering through his mind - Chakotay had something about a spy, they were being scanned, and then the _Val Jean_ had been hit. _Is it the Cardies?_ Tom had asked him.

 _Out. I have to get out._ He threw their hands off of him, a small part of his brain registering confusion at his heavy and sluggish limbs, another remembering the haunted look on his father's face when+ he'd first come home after being gone so long. The aliens were talking at him now, shouting. Telling him to lay still, telling him he was sick. As he fought against their attempts to restrain him, he felt a sharp burning sensation as his clothing ( _These aren't my clothes! Why am I in these clothes?_ ) rubbed against his chest. His panic didn't abate when he looked down and saw a large patch of his flesh bubbled and ulcerated and red. He managed to fling his captors off and fled to the only door in the white room, his fingers prying frantically to open it. They caught him again, and, as he struggled, he realized his legs were little more than jelly. He heard another voice, then. Familiar, but unexpected.

"Stop fighting them, Tom! Calm down!"

He looked for the source, distracted. His captors pressed their advantage and he felt something cold and metallic against his neck. He had one coherent thought before everything faded to black.

 _B'Elanna?_

 _=/\=_

The next time Tom regained consciousness, it was sudden and complete; as if someone had just flipped a switch in his brain. He sat up with a gasp and took in his surroundings.

"A part of me has always thought we'd see each other again, but this wasn't quite what I had in mind," a voice said dryly.

He turned to the room's other occupant. "You _are_ here. I thought… I thought maybe it was a hallucination."

B'Elanna was sitting on the other bed, her arms hugging her knees. She was wearing the same sort of white pajamas that Tom was. "Nope. It's me, in the flesh." She regarded a lesion on her arm similar to the one Tom had on his chest. "Such as it is."

Tom took a deep breath as he hopped off the bed. There were only about a hundred questions running through his brain right now, ( _How did you end up here? How did I end up here? Why do I feel so weak? Do you still think about the night we 'borrowed' my uncle's catamaran and had sex on the hammock, too?_ ), but he thought he'd better stick to the most pertinent ones. "Who are these people? What do they want from us?"

B'Elanna clutched her knees tighter, and he saw how her knuckles whitened. "I don't know. They haven't told me anything. After they sedated you, I got kind of… upset."

 _I'll bet_ , Tom thought.

"So they knocked me out, too. I woke up only a couple of minutes before you did."

"Sorry." Tom grimaced, ashamed of his earlier freak out, and that it had led to her getting drugged.

"For what?" B'Elanna asked, straightening. "And sit down, will you? You look like you're about to fall over." She scooted over a bit, which Tom took as a welcome invitation. If he was going to get abducted by weird aliens that had infected him with some kind of flesh-eating disease, at least he liked the company. He eased onto the bed next to her.

"So," Tom started casually, his legs swinging beneath him, "how've you been?"

B'Elanna snorted. "Oh, you know. Finally got the posting I always dreamed of, actually managed to impress the chief, who's dead now, by the way, and then got flung from the Badlands into the Delta Quadrant. The usual."

Tom looked at her askance. "Those readings were right? We're in the Delta Quadrant?"

B'Elanna nodded. "My ship, _Voyager_ , it got hit by some kind of displacement wave. Right after, the crew got transported to this weird farm-"

"A farm?" Tom asked. "Not a rainforest?"

"Did I say rainforest?" she huffed. She never had liked being interrupted. "Anyway, the people there - they looked human, but… none of it was real. It was like some kind of massive holodeck or something. The next thing I remember was this needle…." She shuddered.

Wanting to be comforted as much as provide some comfort, Tom took a chance and wrapped an arm around her. He felt her tense for a moment, but then she relaxed into his shoulder. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "I remember that, too." A sudden thought occurring to him, he withdrew his arm and stared at her. "Hang on, you said the Badlands. Was your ship looking for _us_?"

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Paris? That's what you're worried about right now?"

"Well, not worried, exactly." Of course he realized, as a member of what most considered a terrorist organization, that there was always a rather large chance he'd end up in a Federation penal colony… or worse. But he couldn't believe that B'Elanna, of all people, would join the mission to make that happen. Rationally, he recognized that she likely didn't have much say in the matter, but irrationally… "I guess I'm just a little hurt, is all. That it's you."

Now both of her eyebrows were up. "You're hurt? That I took an amazing posting on a state of the art starship without considering that you _might_ be one of the Maquis it was pursuing? Apparently the fact that we dated five years ago means I can't be even peripherally involved in your arrest for _terrorist activities_? I'm the one in the wrong here? That's your argument?"

"Yeah," he sighed, scratching his head. "I had a feeling I was going to catch some shit for that the second it left my mouth."

B'Elanna shook her head, bursting into laughter.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" Tom demanded in mock indignation. "My imminent incarceration? Our mysterious abduction? These nasty lesions spreading all over me that itch like hell?"

It took her several moments to stop, but, finally, she managed to take a breath and look at him. "No, none of that. It's…" she looked down at her hands. "I can't believe I'm going to admit this." B'Elanna met his eyes. "I just realized I've really missed you."

He gave her a lopsided smile in return. "You picked a great time to tell me."

=/\=

An hour or so later - after the Ocampan doctors had decided their patients were calm enough to have a rational discussion; and after they had been informed that yes, an apparently omnipotent alien called The Caretaker had brought them to this subterranean civilization against their will; and no, the Ocampans had no idea where their ships might be, nor how to get back to them; and, yes, on top of that, whatever sickness they had was poorly understood and likely fatal - Tom and B'Elanna stood together in shocked silence in a quiet and darkened corridor off the main courtyard of the community.

"We've got to find a way out of here," B'Elanna said, starting to pace.

"Why?" Tom asked her, slumping against the wall and sliding to the ground. "Where are we going to go?"

She stared at him, "To find _Voyager_ or your ship. To get some help!"

"How do you even know they're alive?" he demanded. "That the Ocampans' beloved Caretaker hasn't blown both ships into oblivion?"

She stuck a hand out towards him, offering to help him rise. "Until I have proof that that's what happened, I'm not giving up. _We're_ not giving up. Let's go, Paris."

He shook his head, ignoring her hand. "What's the point, B'Elanna? We're dying. And it sounds like this planet is dying. This is the end of the line for us - a shitstain of a world on the backend of nowhere. It's over." He could still feel her eyes on him but refused to meet them.

"What happened to you, Tom?" she asked, maybe with compassion or maybe with disgust. Probably a little of both.

He buried his face in his knees, alarmed to feel his eyes threatening tears. "Too much, B'Elanna. Too-" He let out a gasp when a sharp pain gripped his chest. "Shit."

B'Elanna crouched down next to him. "What's wrong?"

"You want a list?" he panted as the wave of pain crested, then, thankfully, began to wane. "Whatever this is," he gestured at the lesions on her neck and arm, "I think it's getting worse."

"We need to get you back to the clinic," she said, this time not just offering help but physically trying to force him upright.

He resisted and pulled away from her. "No. I'm not going back there. I don't trust these people, B'Elanna."

She threw her hands in the air. "Damn it, Paris! You won't try to escape, you won't let them treat you! What _do_ you want to do?"

"Please," a small voice said. It was one of the interns from the clinic. She was peering at them from the edge of the courtyard. "I would like to help."

Apparently, not all of the doe-eyed aliens were happy in their complacent trust in their Caretaker. A small fringe group had decided to forge their own way, despite popular opinion and against their government's wishes. The sympathetic Ocampan led them to one of the secret tunnels to the surface. "This is your best chance to find your people," she assured them. "They'll be able to detect your lifesigns much better the higher you get."

So Tom started his way up the long, long climb, with B'Elanna close on his heels.

"You better not slow me down," she taunted. "I remember how I used to have to hold back when we ran together."

"I was holding back for you!" he insisted, blanching when he looked up and saw how far the stairs went.

"Keep telling yourself that," B'Elanna replied, with a not-so-gentle shove to get him moving.

 _God, I've missed this woman._

By the fifth flight of stairs, he told her to pass him.

"Must be that redundant lung," he gasped as she dragged her feet past him.

"Yup," she grunted, sweat dripping off her ridges. "This is a piece of cake."

By the ninth flight, he had lost sight of her.

"B'Elanna?" he called, not having the breath to say anything beyond her name.

"I'm here, Tom," she encouraged from somewhere above him, but he could hear she was exhausted, too. "Not much farther."

"Liar," he groaned back, as he hauled himself up another step.

By the sixteenth flight, he'd caught up with her again as she sat panting on a landing.

"I was beginning to think you were trying to ditch me," he said, relishing the feel of the cool metal of the railing against his forehead.

"Damn," she breathed. "You figured me out. Got posted on _Voyager_ … chased you into the Badlands… got thrown across the galaxy… Just to ditch you on the never ending staircase from hell." She chucked a stray pebble down the stairs, and they listened to it ricochet its way down.

"We should keep moving," Tom said after its final ping. _It couldn't hurt to close my eyes, right? Just for a minute?_ "Remember Zakarian from Survival Strategies? He'd be ashamed of us both."

"I wish he was here right now."

"Really?" Tom opened his eyes. "I thought you hated him."

"I did," she replied. "That's why I'd make him carry me the rest of the way."

Before Tom could find the breath to laugh, there was a deep shudder and the staircase trembled. "That didn't sound too good. Or feel too good, either." He regarded the structure on which they sat in a new, more rickety, light.

B'Elanna had already pulled herself to standing. "I'd have to agree with your assessment. And here I always thought you were a lousy engineer. Come on, let's go," she said, her hand extended to him. This time he took it.

But he only made it another half a flight before he stumbled badly, the sharp pain in his chest having made a reappearance. "I can't, B'Elanna," he gasped. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just get up." She pulled on his arm. "It's only a few more flights. On your feet, Paris."

He let himself fall heavily onto the stair, resting his head on his arms. God, he was tired. Of all of it, of every last fucking thing. "You go," he said. "Leave me here and get help. I'm just… I'll rest for a while, and then I'll start up again. You go ahead."

"You're a fucking liar," she snarled, seeing through him instantly, just like she always had. She kept pulling at him, wrapping her arms around his chest and trying to force him to move. "I am not leaving you here. Get up!" The staircase shuddered again, and they were pelted with a shower of small pebbles and grit.

He picked his head up, but only his head. "Go!" he demanded. "You can make it. I'm just slowing you down. I'm not going to be the reason you don't… Just leave, B'Elanna!"

"No! I am not losing you again!" she shouted back at him. "Now get _up_ , goddamn it!"

Startled into action by the emotion and vehemence in her voice, Tom got up. Only to immediately fall back onto his knees.

"We'll crawl then," B'Elanna said resolutely, but the staircase was shaking in earnest now. Tom knew they didn't have much time. He couldn't let her risk herself for him. Just as he considered that his only option might be pitching himself off the staircase, they heard another voice.

"B'Elanna!" a man shouted, followed by the sounds of several feet pounding up the stairs towards them. The leader of their cavalry was a young human in a yellow 'Fleet uniform. Tom thought he looked vaguely familiar.

"Harry," B'Elanna breathed out with relief. "Thank God. You picked a really good time to start paying me back."

"Glad I can be of service." Harry grinned at her. "Let's get you two out of here." He turned to Tom and looked startled when he saw the pilot's face.

"Do I know you?" Tom asked, squinting at him as the younger man wrapped an arm around him and pulled him upright. "Were we at the Academy together?"

"No!" Harry insisted as they followed after an Ocampan woman and a hirsute spotted alien that were helping B'Elanna. "I mean, maybe," he corrected. Tom could see him blushing even in the fading light of the tunnel. "We probably just saw each other in passing."

"I guess that's it," Tom said, relying heavily on the other man's strength. "I could have sworn there was something else, though..."

Once they got to the surface, Harry started to comm _Voyager_ for transport off the planet. Before it could go through, Tom stopped him. "Send me to the _Val Jean_ ," he said. "If the Kazon are as bad as you say, we'll need both ships to hold off their attack."

"Tom!" B'Elanna protested, her expression alarmed; but, before she could stop him, Harry nodded in agreement and re-routed him back to join the other Maquis.

Chakotay was already on the bridge and automatically slid to the co-pilot's seat when Tom appeared. "Nice to have you back, Paris."

"I'd like to say it's nice to be back, Cap," he replied, "but it looks like we're getting our asses handed to us right now." He almost lost his seat seconds after he took it when the ship took a hard hit. "We do still have shields, right?" he asked, when sparks began to fly over his head. A bloom of phaser fire lit up the viewscreen and another explosion to starboard rocked the small ship. Tom's hands flew across the console to compensate and steady their course, riding the adrenaline rush he always got from flying over his exhaustion and pain.

"Shit! _Voyager_ 's weapon's array has been hit," Chakotay cursed. "Neither one of us has the firepower to stop that ship now."

"We can set a collision course," Tom urged. "Sacrifice the _Val Jean_. It's our best chance."

"The guidance system's disabled," Chakotay called over the increasing number of alarms and warnings the ship's system was sounding. "Someone will need to fly it manually!"

"Good thing you have an ace pilot on board," Tom said grimly, dodging another torpedo.

"I'm the captain here, Paris!" Chakotay barked. "I'll do it!"

"We don't have time to switch! Go, Chakotay! Save the others!"

Realizing there wasn't another option, Chakotay hit the comm system and told the other Maquis to prepare for transport. He said something about beaming Tom over to _Voyager_ , but the pilot barely heard him. He barely heard any of it - the alarms, the sounds of the _Val Jean_ being hit, the shouts of his Maquis comrades over the comm as they grabbed what they could and transported to _Voyager_. A sense of calm washed over him. It was just him and this ship and the Kazon weapons array; then it would be over. He felt bad, that he hadn't said a proper goodbye to B'Elanna before he transported over here. It had been nice to see her again, even if it was just for a little while. Once he was certain nothing could divert the _Val Jean_ from its intended target, he closed his eyes and pictured her face; thinking that would be OK, if the last thing he thought of was her.

And then the familiar tingle of the transporter beam enveloped him. He opened his eyes and there she was, standing next to Chakotay at the transporter controls with a knowing smirk on her face.

"I told you I wasn't going to lose you again."


	18. Chapter 18

**May 2368**

Tom regarded himself and his brand new pip in the bathroom mirror. He really should get back out there - his mother and sisters were probably wondering where he'd gotten himself to. Hiding wasn't exactly his typical MO. Kath, at least, would suspect something was seriously wrong if she knew he'd squirreled himself away in a public bathroom for almost ten minutes for no particular reason.

"Right," he said firmly to his reflection. "Pull it together, Paris." He exited the head.

Only to collide directly with a young cadet and his very full cup of coffee.

"Shoot!" the dark-haired human exclaimed. He fumbled with the mug, trying desperately to regain control but only managing to spill most of its contents down Tom's front. The cup tumbled to the tiled floor with a clatter. "Oh God. I mean, sorry! Ensign! Sir!"

 _Man, he looks young._ Tom guessed the cadet was of mostly East Asian descent based on his facial features. Features that were rapidly flushing red. "Relax, Cadet," Tom said in a friendly way, doing his best to wipe away the excess coffee with his hands. "I've been an officer for less than an hour. Pretty sure I don't have the power to court martial you yet." _Besides,_ he thought to himself, _now I've got another excuse to not go back to the reception._ "What's your name?"

"Kim, sir!" The other man (Was 'man' really the right word? Was there something in between 'boy' and 'man' that could be applied?) seemed torn between standing at attention and trying to use the corner of his dress uniform to help mop up Tom's tunic. "Harry Kim! I'm here to represent the first-year class. As class president."

Tom couldn't suppress his grin. "I'm sure you're a very inspiring leader, Kim." He picked up the mug from where Kim had dropped it and thrust it back at him to stop the cadet's highly ineffective cleaning efforts. "If you'll excuse me, I'm just going to head in there to clean this up," he said, jutting his thumb back towards the bathroom he'd just left.

 _Damn twenty-fourth century technology_ , Tom thought not even five minutes later, his dress uniform now just as clean as it was when he'd first donned it this morning. Before his brain could conjure up another excuse to stay in the head, the door slammed open and he jumped.

"Should a Starfleet officer be that easy to startle?" his sister asked him with a smirk.

"Shit, Kath," Tom said in exasperation. "What if I was taking a leak?"

"Then you should have locked the door. Besides, I'm a doctor. And I used to change your diapers." Her expression softened as she rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him. "This is supposed to be a happy day, by the way. You all right?"

He met his big sister's eyes through her reflection in the mirror and gave her a small smile. He tried to remember when it was that he'd grown taller than her. No matter how many years ago it was, it always surprised him a little when he had to look down to meet her eyes. She loomed so large in his mind - all through his childhood she'd been his chief tormentor but also source of comfort; the first person to knock him down a few pegs when he needed it, but always his biggest champion. "I'm fine," he told her.

"Liar." Kath punched his arm with her free hand.

Tom gave a short sigh through his nose. "I'm just so tired of it. All the 'I'm sorry your father couldn't be here,' 'He was an incredible officer - you've got big shoes to fill,' 'I'm sure he's very proud of you.' How many pitying looks can one person be expected to take? I just needed to get away for a minute."

"Reasonable," she replied. "But you can't hide in here forever, little brother. Any more than you can hide on Earth."

He pulled away from her then. "Give it a rest, will ya? I'm doing what you wanted. This time next week I'll be on the _Exeter_ , flying very far away from here."

God, now she was giving him a pitying look. Fantastic.

"I'd like to think that it's what you want, too," she said, taking his hand. "Everyone says it's a great posting for you."

"It is," he agreed. "And if things were different, maybe… I just hate to think of him going to that place, Kath."

"You haven't even seen it," she chided him gently. "It's nice, I promise. They're going to take good care of him. And Mom can see him as much as she wants. You being here - it was just delaying the inevitable. It's not safe for either of them for him to be at home anymore."

"I know that's what you think-"

"It's what I know!" she insisted. "Even Mom knows it's time, on some level! Dad would not have wanted you to throw your career, your life away, staying on Earth."

He glared at her, crossing his arms across his chest. "Do you have to talk about like him he's dead?"

She pulled him into a tight hug, ignoring his various non-verbal signals to back off. "That's what it feels like to me, Tommy. His body's still here - but Dad... He's gone. I know I act much tougher about it than certain little brothers I know, but it hurts me, too." She looked up at him with a sad smile.

He finally relented, returning her embrace and resting his chin on her head. "We should probably leave the bathroom. People are going to talk."

She laughed, pushing him out the door as she took a quick wipe at her eyes. "So I came looking for you for a reason," Kath said once they were outside and back amongst the throngs of celebrating cadets and their families.

He was immediately on guard. He knew that tone. "Oh?"

"Guess who I was talking to just before I ambushed you in the bathroom?" she asked, shit-eating grin firmly in place.

Sometimes his sister was as subtle as a throat punch. "Gee, Kath. I don't know. Could she be half-Klingon?" He rolled his eyes as they made their way back into the main reception area. "You really need to let that go. It's ancient history. We've been split up longer than we were together at this point."

"Hope springs eternal," she replied cheerfully, nabbing a crab puff off a passing tray. "I just think you two were so good together. And neither one of you will explain your break up to me! I simply do not get it."

He shrugged. "There's nothing to get. We grew apart. It wasn't her, it was me. She loved me, she just wasn't _in_ love with me. Shit happens. Take your pick." He hoped his practiced nonchalance was convincing. He was so fed up with Kathleen harassing him about B'Elanna. His sister had kept in touch with her despite the break up and Kath taking a position on an NGO hospital ship. Because of their correspondence, Tom got regular news of B'Elanna's various trials and tribulations despite his studious efforts to avoid all thoughts of his ex. The avoidance was not because of any remaining hurt feelings or animosity (on his part, anyway), but, rather, because despite the various trysts and relationships he'd pursued after their split, Tom was still in love with her. Even worse, he suspected his sister knew it.

He'd tried, once, to reconcile. He knew he'd ended things with her poorly. At the time, it felt like he'd been doing her a kindness. He had become a failure on so many levels. He was a terrible engineer, and he was at such a loss as to how to be a good son to either of his parents. And then there were the things he said to B'Elanna during their last fight. It's not that they weren't true - it broke his heart to see how the otherwise confident woman would tie herself in knots because of a single word from John Torres - but for him to have attacked her father in such a blunt and cruel fashion… He couldn't really blame her for lashing out like she had.

So he had walked away from her and engineering, (not much he could do about the family…). He had set B'Elanna free - from his lack of talent and his family drama, and his big, stupid mouth. At least that's what he had told himself. But, once the dust settled, he realized what he'd really done was run away - abandoned her because their relationship was no longer the uncomplicated refuge it used to be. Or maybe he had just wanted it to be. Either way, he owed her an apology big time.

He knew rekindling their romance probably wasn't in the cards, but they could still be friends, right? Wrong, per B'Elanna. When he had finally worked up the nerve to approach her at the end of their second year, she had made her feelings on the matter abundantly clear.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she had said, when Tom had stopped her on the quad one pleasant June day and proposed getting some coffee together.

He tried not to cringe. Her hostility felt like a physical barrier between them. "I know I didn't handle things well-"

"Didn't handle things well?" B'Elanna asked in a low voice. This was bad. She was always at her quietest right before she really lit into him. It was the metaphorical calm before the storm. "You think insulting my father, abandoning the project we were supposed to work on together, and ditching me without a word wasn't handling things well, Paris?"

"I'm really sorry," he said hurriedly, cursing himself and his cowardice for taking a step away from her. "I was under a lot of stress - my dad, and not really doing well in my classes, and doubting my decision to be at the Academy at all - and I guess I sort of... imploded. But I never meant to hurt you." He cleared his throat. Another step back. "I'm sorry. Again."

"What could you possibly have to be sorry for?" she sneered. "Doesn't every girl dream of having their boyfriend break up with them using their professor as a proxy?"

"B'Elanna-"

"Don't say another word," she menaced as she slowly advanced on him. Tom suspected it was only the presence of the other cadets and professors on the quad that was keeping her volume in check. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he had approached her in such a public venue. "I nearly failed Engine Design because of you. After you dropped, Anytus made it very clear she wasn't pleased we'd gone over her head to the dean, and because of your _implosion,_ I was the only one she had to take it out on. So don't say another damn word to me, Paris. Ever."

Respecting her very strong wishes, he hadn't. But that didn't mean he had stopped thinking about her. Oh, it would fade for a while - he'd be distracted by some pretty, shiny thing like the charming Andaran medical student he'd met one weekend while rock climbing at Mount Tam, or a memorable few nights with a gorgeous waiter from Oakland, not to mention a best forgotten drunken near miss with the bland Danica - but then the distraction would end, and he'd find himself sitting in his parents' breakfast nook, reliving their first kiss.

All he could hope is that once he was out in space, flying far away from Earth and the geography of their romance, he'd finally be able to let B'Elanna go.

Meanwhile, Kathleen was _not_ helping.

"There's Mom and Moira," his sister said, pointing towards the edge of the garden. She turned back to look at him as she grabbed his hand, then suddenly dropped it. "Actually," she continued, "why don't you wait here? I'll bring them over."

"Kath?" Tom tried to grab her, wondering why she didn't want him to go with her, but she disappeared into the crowd before he was able to. "What the hell?" He shrugged and started to follow, when a voice stopped him.

"You are Tom Paris." The stern tone made it sound almost like an accusation. Tom turned with both curiosity and a touch of foreboding and found himself facing a hazel-eyed Klingon woman. She was short for her species, no taller than his sister. If the fact that it was rare to see Klingons on the Academy campus wasn't enough to give her identity away, then the wary expression and high cheekbones she'd passed down to her daughter would have.

"I am." Tom smiled, with some caution. God only knows what B'Elanna had told her. "You must be Miral Torres."

She looked like she was about to spit. "I am Miral, daughter of L'Naan of the House of Korath. I do not hold with your _human_ customs of naming."

 _Way to go, Paris. Maybe she can call her husband over and you can tell him what you think of him - piss off the whole damn family._ "My apologies," he said, forcing himself to hold her eyes and stay at his full height, knowing the disgust with which Klingons viewed the more submissive mannerisms that were deemed polite in Terran society. "I meant no offense."

"None is taken," she said, eyeing him closely. "Despite your impressive stature, you are not much more than a boy. I would not expect you to be well-versed in Klingon traditions."

Tom wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or insulted, but, in the interest of self-preservation, he decided to go with the former. He smiled at her again, this time with more confidence. "I really should have known better. A lot of humans don't even take their spouses' names anymore. Certainly a Klingon woman would never dishonor her ancestry that way."

Tom forced himself not to squirm in the face of her penetrating stare. His will had nearly broken when she let out a loud bark of laughter. "I like you, Tom Paris," Miral declared as she clapped him hard on the shoulder. "I thought I would, based on B'Elanna's stories of you. I am glad to see my belief confirmed. Any human male that would learn Klingon in order to woo a mate is worthy of some respect."

Clearly B'Elanna hadn't told her mother everything, for which Tom was grateful. "I think 'attempted to learn Klingon' would be more accurate," he confided with a self-deprecating grin.

Miral laughed again. "B'Elanna has shared some of your mistakes as well. The Klingon language is far more complex than your standard human tongue. Even your attempt is honorable." She started to circle around Tom, making him feel a bit like he was on display in a shop window. "She was loathe to tell me, but, when pressed, B'Elanna also conceded you are a passionate and considerate lover. With impressive stamina."

 _Sweet Jesus._ Tom's cheeks burned, and he suspected they were also turning a vibrant shade of pink. He cleared his throat. "That's always nice to hear."

Miral's expression was amused. "You humans are all so prudish. A Klingon celebrates victories in the bed chamber as vigorously as those on the battlefield. You should be proud you served my daughter so well!"

"Oh, I am. Absolutely," Tom said, willing his skin to return to its normal shade. Time for a change of subject. "Where is B'Elanna? Is she with her father?"

The Klingon's face darkened. "Her father did not come. He was otherwise engaged," she said, turning away from him to look at the garden crowded with celebrating graduates and their families.

Tom's stomach sunk. B'Elanna must have been crushed. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath, forgetting the superior hearing Klingons possessed. He swallowed hard when Miral whipped her head back to face him, obviously having heard what he said.

"You needn't fear any reprisal from me," Miral said after a moment. "You only speak the truth, as unfortunate as that may be. He was not always as he is now. A true warrior will rise up to face challenges again and again; becomes resilient even when battered down by defeat. But others - in time, retreat becomes their only strategy."

He went to stand next to her in silence, his ability to think of something to say in every situation utterly failing him, when she spoke again.

"May I ask you a question, Tom Paris?"

"Of course."

"Why did you and B'Elanna end your relationship?" She turned her penetrating gaze on him once again.

His hands fidgeted. Why didn't these damn dress uniforms have pockets? "She never told you?"

Miral's eyes narrowed. "You answer my question with one of your own. I am not trying to trick you." She blew out a short huff of air from her nose. "B'Elanna and I… We find ourselves frequently at odds. It was much the same with my own mother and myself when I was reaching adulthood. No, to answer your question, she has never told me why you parted ways. I only know that she was happier before - when you were still 'a couple,' as humans like to say."

Tom's shoulders drooped. "I wish I had a good answer for you. I… I made some mistakes. Said things I shouldn't have. Walked away when I should have stayed." He shook his head. "I regret not handling things better. That we aren't still friends, at least. I still…" _Love her_ , he thought in his head. But it's not like he could say that to Miral. "Miss her," he concluded, staying on far safer ground.

"Regret is a useless emotion humans too frequently indulge in. You cannot change the past," Miral declared. Her voice softened. "But, accepting your failings is the first step to moving beyond them. It is good that you take responsibility for your mistakes. You may yet make someone a worthy life-mate, Tom Paris. Someday."

Despite the half dozen different ways Miral had qualified her compliment, Tom found himself inordinately gratified by what she had said. "How is she? B'Elanna?" Tom asked.

"Perhaps you should ask her yourself," Miral stated, gesturing at her daughter as she broke free from the reception crowd and approached them.

"Tom," B'Elanna said, handing one of the drinks in her hands to Miral. "I see you've met my mother."

Tom smiled in what he hoped was a conciliatory fashion. "Yes. We've had a nice talk, actually."

"Your sister, Kathleen!" Miral announced. "She promised to share a paper with me on the influence of microbiological terraforming on fetal health in humanoids. It could have much bearing on my work!" B'Elanna's mother strode purposefully away from them.

"How can two women that have never met before today be conspiring against us?" Tom asked wonderingly.

B'Elanna shrugged and sipped at her drink. "Congrats, by the way," she said. "On the _Exeter_. Good posting."

"Thanks," Tom replied, once again cursing his lack of pockets as he tucked his hands in his armpits. "How did you hear?"

"Danica," B'Elanna said simply, still looking anywhere but at him. "She's told me _lots_ of things about you, actually."

 _Shit._ He started to stammer. "B'Elanna, I'm sorry. It was that big party, right after finals. I'd been drinking-"

She started laughing, finally looking at him. "I'm just teasing, Paris. Relax. It's been over two years. It's all water under the bridge now, right?"

"Right," he said, chuckling himself in his relief.

"Kathleen told me about your father. That he's going to a care facility." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. I know it's not what you hoped for."

Tom's turn to shrug. If he never had to discuss his father's illness with another person, it would be fine by him. "It is what it is. So what posting did you get? Get snapped up by UP? La Forge's newest protege?"

"The _Harrison_ ," she muttered, looking back into her glass.

Tom's brow creased. "The _Harrison_? I don't-"

"It's a supply ship. The Antos sector. I'll be in shuttle maintenance," she said, her tone short.

This made no sense. Tom might have been a complete failure as an engineer himself, but he knew enough to recognize when someone was brilliant at it, and B'Elanna was one of those people. How could the 'Fleet be wasting her on a podunk supply ship? Knowing very well saying this would go over about as well as his character assault on her father, he responded with a chipper, "We all have to start somewhere. I'm sure it's just a short term assignment until something better opens up."

"Yeah. I'm sure that's all it is," she replied, her skepticism evident.

"B'Elanna, I know I've said this before, but I want you to know I mean it: I'm sorry. For how I acted two years ago. You didn't-"

She stopped him with a wave. "Stop, Tom. It's not necessary. I know you're sorry. And it's fine. I'm sorry, too. I made my share of mistakes. So let's just let it go. It's not like either one of us thought we were going to last forever, right?"

 _No_ , Tom thought sadly, _who would have thought that?_ "I know we'll be pretty far away from each other, but I'd like it if… I mean, maybe we can stay in touch?" _Because then I'll definitely stop being in love with you. This is a great plan, Paris._

B'Elanna apparently decided to save him from himself, however. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said to her glass. She took a long look at him, a wistful smile on her face. "Take care of yourself, OK?"

She moved quickly back into the reception crowd, her petite frame swallowed up by the shoulders of red and blue and gold before Tom could make his response.

"You, too, B'Elanna."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Thanks, as always, to everyone for all the kind reviews! In this note, though, I'd like to send a special shout-out to Ju, bon, and the other guest reviewers since I can't thank them directly!

* * *

 **September 2371**

B'Elanna checked the time on her console's chronometer. If she waited much longer, she'd be late. Although she wondered if anything could possibly make this meeting go worse.

The first few days they'd gotten stranded in the Delta Quadrant had gone by in a blur - people working 'round the clock to make sure the ship had functioning environmental systems, engines, weapons. No one was too concerned about who did what job - there was so much to be done that if someone was qualified, they were put to work - Starfleet and Maquis. But now that initial frenzy was dying down, and the command team - now consisting of Janeway and the Maquis captain - had decided it was time to introduce some structure and absorb the Maquis crew into the 'Fleet hierarchy.

B'Elanna had no idea where this left her - she'd been low on the totem pole when she'd first come on board. But in the few days before they'd entered the Badlands, Jora had suggested she'd soon be ready to give B'Elanna more responsibility. Only now Jora was gone, and Carey was the senior engineer on board. The words "Fuck the conduit!" still rang in B'Elanna's ears. She was about to meet with him _and_ Janeway about her "new role on _Voyager_." He was probably planning on sticking her in the plasma relay room, never to be seen or heard from again, and wanted Janeway as a witness in case B'Elanna's Klingon instincts took over.

On top of that, there was Tom Paris.

She'd been shocked when she woke up in the Ocampan hospital and saw who occupied the other bed. She'd barely had time to process all that had happened before he'd come around, lashing out at the Ocampans in his panic. In that moment, she wondered if everything she'd read in Janeway's reports on him had been true.

But when he woke up the second time, he was just... Tom. The same humor, the same stupid grin, the same strong arms that wrapped around her in comfort. He didn't seem violent then or particularly reckless or mercenary in his actions. If anything, he just seemed defeated. Like so many things had broken in his life, he no longer thought they were worth fixing. It reminded her a little of that day in his parents' kitchen, when she'd found out about Owen and they shared their first kiss.

She remembered other things, too - more kisses, not to mention other, more passionate activities. But beyond that, she remembered how he'd never been afraid to challenge her when he thought she was wrong; the many times she lost her temper around him and he didn't act like she was going to take a _bat'leth_ to his throat. She thought about the times he seemed to instinctually know when she needed a hug, or an encouraging word, or just someone to sit and listen. And it had surprised her, how suddenly and deeply she now wanted him back in her life. Maybe just as a friend, or maybe something else, she didn't know yet; but she was determined to keep him around until she figured it out.

The Maquis captain had been startled by her new-found depth of feeling as well. After she, Harry and the others had returned to _Voyager_ , B'Elanna had taken over for the terrified-looking novice crewman manning the transporter room, figuring it would be better to have someone with experience there in case the crew of the _Val Jean_ needed a quick extraction. Her instincts had been dead-on, and it been a hairy several minutes as she beamed over the rebels in as large of groups as was safe, finishing with their captain, Chakotay. He'd given her a quick rundown on Tom's plan to take out the Kazon ship and told her to get ready to transport the pilot over on his mark.

"Of all the stupid, self-sacrificing-! Why does he have to be such a fucking _petaQ_?" she spat, her fingers angrily stabbing at the control panel so she could lock onto Tom's signal in less than a second if needed.

Chakotay had given her a look over his shoulder as he adjusted the sensors so he could track the _Val Jean_ 's progress towards its target. "I take it you two know each other?" he had asked.

And then Tom was there, on her transporter pad, and she'd said the first dumb thing that came to her because she was so damn _relieved_ just to see him alive. He wasn't exactly well, though, as his knees buckled within seconds of his appearance. B'Elanna started to go to him when she realized she didn't feel so hot, either. Chakotay hustled them both off to Sickbay to be tortured by _Voyager_ 's only remaining medical staff - a pompous EMH - for what felt like hours.

She must have dozed off at some point, the Doctor's droning explanation of their condition and its treatment as effective a soporific as any sedative. When she awoke, Tom was gone.

"He left approximately twenty-two minutes ago," the EMH informed her. "He didn't even bother to say thank you. Given the considerable amount of time and expertise it required for me to fully understand and effectively treat your condition, you'd think-"

"Computer, deactivate EMH," B'Elanna said, rolling her eyes at the level of offense the hologram managed to convey before he winked out of sight. She'd gone in search of Tom, but before she'd even made it to the turbolift someone from Engineering was on the comm, asking for her help. She hadn't stopped for anything but the occasional quick bite and a few hours of sleep since. It had been almost a week, and she hadn't been able to get even five minutes with him.

At the moment, however, rolling her shoulders and taking a deep breath as she stood outside of Janeway's ready room, she knew she had bigger problems than her unresolved feelings for Tom Paris. She rang the chime and entered once the door opened.

Janeway was smiling at her from her desk, and Carey was standing nearby looking… Well, not like the member of a death squad she was expecting. In fact, he was smiling at her as well. Maybe he was just excited that he was finally being allowed to tell her off.

"Come in, B'Elanna," Janeway said, gesturing at the seat across from her desk. Not the couch this time - that couldn't be good. "Lieutenant Carey has been telling me about your performance immediately after we were taken into the Delta Quadrant."

 _Fuck the conduit._ She had told her superior officer to _fuck the conduit._ God, her father was right. She didn't know how to work with people. She barely knew how to talk to people. And now she was stuck out here in the Delta Quadrant, condemned forever to be known as the angry Klingon that told her immediate superior to _fuck the damn_ _conduit._

"This isn't usually how things are done," Janeway was saying, "but obviously we're in unusual circumstances. I hope you're willing to help out where we most need you."

"Of course, Captain," she said, risking a glance at Carey. He was keeping his eyes on their CO.

Janeway stood and came around the front of her desk. "Then please rise, Ensign."

B'Elanna rose, turning from the captain to Carey and back again, desperately trying to figure out what was going on.

"B'Elanna Torres," the captain said. "I hereby grant you a field promotion to lieutenant junior grade, with all the rights and responsibility that rank entails." She fastened a black pip next to B'Elanna's gold one with a smile.

"I don't understand," was all she could manage.

Carey stepped forward. "I know we didn't get off to the best start, B'Elanna. But the way you handled that microfracture - we need people like you, that can keep a cool head and make quick decisions. And I need you - to challenge me to be a better chief." He gave her a kind smile. "Commander Jora had a lot of faith in your abilities, and I trusted her. So I trust you. That's why I want you to be my assistant."

"Your assistant?" she said doubtfully, vague images of fetching coffee and compiling reports floating through her brain.

"Assistant Chief, B'Elanna," he clarified.

There were thank you's and congratulations all around after that. B'Elanna was assigned a hefty reading list that she needed to familiarize herself with before meeting with Carey the next day, and, before she knew it, she was standing back outside the ready room, not entirely sure what had just happened. She gave a vague nod to Harry where he stood at the ops station and wandered onto the turbolift.

 _I just got a promotion because I argued with my boss_ , B'Elanna realized. _Because I stood up to him when I knew I had a better answer._ "He _wants_ me to challenge him," she announced to the empty turbolift.

"Please restate your destination," the computer responded, singularly unimpressed with B'Elanna's epiphany.

"Deck nine," she said, then reconsidered. "Computer, belay that. Deck four."

She walked down the main crew corridor of deck four, checking the names on the doors until she found the right one. There were only two people left in the universe who would understand how hard fought this moment was for her. Two people who would know what it meant to her that she'd been given this chance and that had always known she deserved it. Unfortunately, one of those people was seventy thousand light years away.

So this one would have to do. She hit the chime, and the door slid open to reveal Tom Paris.

"B'Elanna," he said, moving into the doorway. "I wasn't expecting you. It's not really a good time-"

"She'll never know," B'Elanna said, and she pushed past him until she was in his quarters.

"Who'll never know?" Tom asked, his forehead creasing. "She won't know what?"

B'Elanna plopped onto the couch against the wall and let her shoulders droop. "I just got promoted to Lieutenant. Carey wants me to be Assistant Chief."

"Then I guess congratulations are in order," Tom said as he sat down next to her. "Aren't they?"

"She was always there," B'Elanna said. "My mother. She was the one that came to my games, and my school events - despite the looks the human parents would give her. She was the one that helped me get ready for my entrance exam - even though she never wanted me in Starfleet. And graduation… She was _always there_ , Tom. And I didn't say goodbye to her."

"Oh, B'Elanna," he said, putting his hand over hers.

She snatched it away. "Do you want to know _why_ I didn't say goodbye to her? Because I didn't want to bother my father. I should have listened to you - everything you said about him was right!"

"No," Tom said, shaking his head. "Your father… I never should have said any of that stuff-"

"Why not?" she demanded. "It was all true! I didn't want to ask him to get up and find her. I was _afraid_ to ask him. God forbid, he go to any trouble for his own daughter! And so I didn't say goodbye to her, and I'll never get to tell her that I finally got someone to believe in me. Like she always has. I'm never going to see her again."

"You don't know that..." he started, then trailed off when he saw the look on her face - defying him to spout off the comforting platitudes that they both knew were lies. "I'm so sorry," was all he said in the end.

"I'm never going to see my mother again." On some level, of course, she'd known this as soon as Janeway told the crew what happened - that they were in the Delta Quadrant, and she'd destroyed the only way to get them home to save the Ocampans. But right now was the first time she really _understood_ it, fully grasped what it meant that they were over seventy years from home. She felt the tears start to come, ones she hadn't shed since she was a little girl. She needed to get out of here.

"I'm sorry," she said, jumping up from the couch and fighting to keep her tears at bay a few minutes longer. "You said it was a bad time."

"B'Elanna, will you stop?" Tom said, following close behind and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Just come here." His arms opened to her, and she fell into them. She cried for the mother she felt like she had just found and lost all over again in the span of ten minutes, and for the father that had never understood what it meant to really be there for his child.

After several minutes, she pulled out of Tom's arms, embarrassed and wiping at her drippy eyes and nose. "You're in uniform," she observed, desperate to change the subject. "You're the same rank as me."

Tom nodded, looking sheepish. "Janeway reinstated my rank. Gave me the chief helm officer position. On a 'strictly probationary basis, Mr. Paris,''' he said, in a passable imitation of Janeway's voice. "Chakotay lobbied for it, I guess. Thought that we needed more Maquis representation on the senior staff, given Tuvok's been on your side this whole time."

"Well, congrats to you, too, then," B'Elanna said, trying to figure out if he was happy with his sudden jump in status or not.

He shrugged. "Thanks. We'll see how long it lasts. I don't think your captain likes me very much."

B'Elanna smirked. "She does not."

There he was, smiling at her, a bit sadly, his hands jammed in his pockets. B'Elanna thought of his arms wrapped around her and how long and lonely this trip was going to be. She thought about how he'd gently taken her hand when she'd talked about her mother and the quiet murmurs of comfort he had made while she cried, her face buried in his chest. She thought about the soft skin of his neck and the scent that she once mistook for aftershave but later had discovered was just inherently, uniquely Tom's. And she looked up at those damn blue eyes, that still seemed to hold so much care and affection for her even after so many years, then she leaned forward and kissed him.

Only to feel him immediately pull away. "B'Elanna… No. I'm sorry. But I'm not… This isn't a good idea," he stammered, taking another step away from her with each word. "I think… You should probably just go."

She stood there in silence, in reality for what was probably no more than ten seconds; but for what felt, internally, like hours, as she flooded with hurt and shame and rejection. Tom wouldn't look at her - instead he had half turned away, keeping his gaze intently focused on his boots. A part of her wanted to lash out, scream, demand to know why he had pushed her away. Did he even understand, what it took for B'Elanna to open herself this way to him? Was everything that B'Elanna had felt between them since Ocampa just a lie he had told her, an illusion she had created in her mind?

But how did any of that matter, really? He didn't want her anymore, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She could only turn around and walk away.


	20. Chapter 20

**August 2370**

B'Elanna pulled a little at the collar of her dress. Given the occasion, she'd replicated something conservative and black. It had been comfortable enough inside during the memorial service, but now that they'd moved out into the hot Sonoma sun for the interment of the ashes, she was sweltering.

She asked herself for the fiftieth time why she'd even come. It had been a hassle to get the week's leave and arrange for transport back to Earth, then back out to the Caldos system to rendezvous with her ship. It's not like she was going to get a lot of close personal time with the Paris family. There were well over a hundred people in attendance - at most she might get to murmur a word or two in passing. She probably should have just sent her condolences via subspace.

Except it was Kath. Kath, who could make you her friend in an instant. Who, when she talked to you, made you feel like you were the most important person in the room. Who could have you shaking with laughter on the worst day of your life. B'Elanna could hardly believe she was gone.

Tom was the one who had contacted her. B'Elanna didn't spend much time reading Federation newsfeeds - she probably wouldn't have found out for weeks if he hadn't. He must have been aware that she and his sister still corresponded regularly. All through B'Elanna's three different postings, and Kathleen's move from the hospital ship to refugee work near the DMZ, they'd stayed in close touch. In many ways Kathleen was the big sister she'd always wished for. B'Elanna remembered getting back to her quarters early that morning after her overnight shift and seeing the message light blinking. She remembered her initial confusion when she'd noted the sender - _Lt. jg T. Paris_ \- she hadn't heard from him since graduation. She also remembered feeling an undeniable frisson of pleasure at the sight of his name, although that had confused her as well.

Then she opened his message.

It hadn't had many details. Just that Kathleen had died in an accidental explosion on Minos Korva and the date and location of her memorial service. She hadn't even thought - just immediately talked to her CO about getting the time off (he'd been skeptical that lowly Ensign Torres knew the Paris family well enough to warrant attending the funeral, but had begrudgingly agreed) and booked a shuttle to Earth.

Only to find herself lost in a sea of the extended Paris clan, Starfleet brass, and dozens of Kathleen's friends and colleagues. She'd sat in the back during the service but had glimpsed Tom and the rest of his family when they entered. They looked terrible. Tom was practically carrying his other sister, Moira, as they walked up the aisle, her sobs echoing through the cavernous hall. Julia Paris, her spine perfectly erect, kept her gaze locked forward and her hand firmly clasped around her husband's upper arm, only her red-rimmed eyes and trembling chin hinting at her sorrow. Owen was little more than a zombie, a shadow of the person he'd been even four years ago - the last time B'Elanna had seen him. She wondered how strongly they'd had to medicate the former captain for him to be fit to attend and if he understood where they were and what they were doing.

And Tom… Haunted was the only word B'Elanna thought fit his shadowed eyes and bleak expression, his tall frame bent with sorrow.

There'd been a clear effort to make the service more of a celebration of Kathleen's accomplished and remarkable life, rather than a joyless discharge of grief; the irony being that only Kath's wry humor and vibrant personality could have pulled off such a feat. Because how could this be anything but tragic? She'd been so young and passionate, had touched so many people's lives - not just in her work as a doctor, but also as a loving friend to everyone she met. For her to die in some senseless accident - just because someone hadn't inspected a power conduit like they should have - it made B'Elanna so angry. The Klingon in her wanted to fight an enemy, to get vengeance for her friend's untimely end; but there was nothing to blame except some shoddy workmanship and maybe a careless building inspector. There was no battle that would do justice to Kathleen's death.

The service was long - there'd been an opportunity for those in attendance to say a few words about Kathleen, and over a dozen people had chosen to participate. Then it was time for the eulogy. When Tom stepped to the podium to deliver it, B'Elanna wondered if it was his choice to do it or his mother's. She had never warmed up to Julia Paris, despite the older woman being nothing but unwaveringly polite whenever they met. She had always struck B'Elanna as cold, even with her own children - and B'Elanna still resented how much Julia had put on Tom during his Academy years. When she was being totally honest with herself, she recognized some of that resentment had been selfish on her part back when she and Tom had been together. But, even now, she didn't understand how a mother could ask her son to be her main source of support, to be the one that everything fell on when things were difficult. At a time when Tom should have been figuring out how to be independent and forge his own life, it felt like Julia had been always pulling him back into hers.

Kath had felt similarly and had said as much to B'Elanna the few times they had discussed Tom over the course of their friendship. Kathleen was always cognizant of B'Elanna's feelings and so rarely mentioned her little brother after their break up. But, on occasion, something would slip out and B'Elanna would press, and Kathleen would tell her how much she worried about him. She hadn't liked that, even after leaving Earth, Tom felt responsible for holding the fragile Paris family together, and that she had seemed to be the only one left that tried to look out for him.

And now she was gone.

"My sister Kathleen," Tom began, "was a vital and accomplished woman. One that was loved by everyone in this room and by many others that couldn't be here with us today. On behalf…" He stopped and cleared his throat. "On behalf of my family and myself, I want to thank you all for coming, for sharing your memories of Kathleen, and for your support."

B'Elanna watched with growing anxiety as Tom stared blankly at the podium, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edges. He swallowed hard several times without speaking. Why was no one helping him? Why couldn't his mother or Moira see how lost he was up there and take over, or at least stand there with him? She half-rose from her seat, not entirely sure what her plan was. She willed Tom to look up and see her in the crowd, so he could know at least one person was here for him.

He looked up and his eyes did alight on hers briefly. At least she thought they did - it was hard to tell when she was sitting so far away. Whatever the reason, he seemed to collect himself enough to continue.

"I remember once, when I was eight. There was this girl I knew… Some of you might remember I came into my height late." A light chuckle went through the crowd. "This girl - she was my age, but a lot bigger than me. And… um… she picked on me a lot. Stole my PADDs, tripped me, pushed me, that kind of thing. And one time she broke this model I made for school. My mother - she said to just ignore it, that the girl was the one with the problem. And my father, when I told him what she'd done - he gave me a hard time, said I shouldn't have let it happen. But Kathleen… she walked me to school the next day. She made us get there early, before anyone else, so we could wait for her. And right before that girl crossed into the schoolyard, Kath blocked the entry, looked down and said, 'You touch my brother's stuff again, and I will end you.'" More laughter, even Tom had a little smile on his face even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"And that was Kathleen all over. She took care of the people she loved, and she looked out for the little guy. In more recent years, she was more likely to cut you down with her wicked sense of humor rather than...um… than threats of violence, but she always had your back. She always had my back, I know. Even…" He faltered again, glancing over at the urn that contained her ashes. B'Elanna felt the tension rise in the crowd - the rustling of clothes, concerned whispers - as Tom failed to continue for a long moment. A baby's plaintive cry broke the silence. "I'm sorry," Tom finally mumbled over the sounds of the child's parents shushing their infant. "I don't think I can finish this." He fell back into his chair, and Moira started whispering something in his ear. B'Elanna could see Tom shake his head. With a short nod from Julia Paris, the celebrant had returned to the podium and wrapped up the service.

Very little was said at the columbarium as Kathleen's ashes were sealed away. The family stood close by, as various mourners approached them in a sort of receiving line. B'Elanna toyed with the idea of leaving - she had nothing to say, really, to Julia, or to Moira, whom she'd only met once before. Owen likely wouldn't even know who she was. But, despite the fact that their friendship was long in the past, B'Elanna felt a need to be there for Tom. Even surrounded by family, he seemed so alone.

So she took herself a little off to the side, to further bake in the sun, thinking she'd have more time to speak with him if she waited until the end. It wasn't long before she picked up the conversations of the other mourners waiting their turn to speak with the family.

"But how could that be? The Cardassians are crossing into Federation space now? Does the treaty mean nothing to them?"

"She wasn't in Federation space - she was in the DMZ. And she wasn't supposed to be, if you catch my meaning."

"Well, I don't blame Julia for not announcing that in the obituary. That poor woman has been through enough with Owen. He looks terrible, really. I don't know why they even had him come."

B'Elanna moved away from the catty pair before she lost control and gave them the tongue lashing they deserved. But, despite her anger at the inappropriateness of their conversation, she couldn't help but have her interest piqued. They were right that Kathleen wasn't supposed to be in the DMZ - her hospital was located in a system well inside Federation space. And what did the Cardies have to do with anything? Deep in thought, she walked smack into another guest.

"Danica!" she said in surprise when she realized it was her old roommate.

"Hi B'Elanna," the other woman said with a sad smile. "I guess I should have expected to see you here. You and Kathleen stayed friends, right? Even after…?"

B'Elanna nodded. The two women made small talk for a few moments - B'Elanna privately admired Danica's deftly feigned surprise when the half-Klingon revealed she had yet to make lieutenant, then reciprocated with her own restraint when she pretended to believe Danica's insistence that she just happened to be close to Earth and thought it was only polite to attend the service (her old roommate's interest in Tom Paris being one of the worst kept secrets of their Academy class). But once talk turned to the weather, B'Elanna couldn't hold out any longer. Not knowing anyone else she could discuss it with, she quietly shared what she'd overheard a few moments prior.

"Why did they bring up the Cardassians?" she asked. "Tom told me the explosion was from a faulty power conduit."

Danica glanced around and moved them farther away from where the Paris family stood. "Rumor has it, the explosion wasn't an accident. The Cardassians were responsible - it was supposed to be a warning."

"A warning about what?" B'Elanna asked confused. "Why does a refugee hospital need a warning?"

Danica bit her lip, clearly concerned about B'Elanna's potential reaction. "Because she wasn't at a hospital. It was a Maquis ship."

B'Elanna immediately scoffed at the allegations. Kathleen Paris was not in the Maquis, she hissed back. And for those people to repeat gossip like that was irresponsible and cruel, particularly given where they were and what they were doing. Never having been very tolerant of B'Elanna's more passionate opinions, Danica removed herself to calmer pastures not too long into the verbal onslaught, claiming she saw an old friend just about to leave.

But despite her vehement denial of the accusations, B'Elanna felt a growing sense of unease. It was like a puzzle that was slowly putting itself together in her mind, each seemingly unrelated piece suddenly making sense as it fell into the larger picture.

Kath had never been shy about her opinions on the Cardassian Union and their occupation of Bajor. Over the years her vitriol had grown as more rumors leaked out about the labor camps and strip mining, the acts of genocide committed against the Bajoran people. The medical ship on which she had practiced did a lot of work along the border of Cardassian space, and she'd treated many Bajoran refugees that had escaped the slavery and oppression of their homeworld.

She'd been pleased, of course, when the Occupation had ended last year, but had told B'Elanna she worried it was too good to be true - that it was just a strategic move by the Cardassians to distract the Federation from a plot that was yet to be revealed. B'Elanna remembered the vehemence with which Kathleen had attacked Admiral Nechayev and her role in negotiating the Federation-Cardassian Treaty at the beginning of the year - stating that the creation of the DMZ and the forced evacuation of Federation colonies like Dorvan was just the first sign of her ominous predictions coming true. She left her job on the ship shortly after that - saying she could do more good on one of the colonies on the Federation side of the border. Apparently, several temporary settlements had been created for refugees, and they needed good doctors.

Then, suddenly, it had stopped. No more diatribes against the Cardies and their cruelty, no more righteous anger when she treated children permanently disabled because they were denied medical care in the labor camps. Her letters took on a different tone - light, breezy things that would share a funny story about Moira, or maybe tender advice for B'Elanna on dealing with her parents. She mentioned her own work less and less each time. And B'Elanna couldn't even recall the last time they'd actually spoken - the last few years, the two woman had made arrangements to chat on subspace at least every month or two. But lately Kathleen claimed the communications system of the planet she was on couldn't support direct calls like that.

At the time, B'Elanna had assumed Kathleen was burnt out - maybe she had needed to stop thinking about her depressing work, get out of her own head a little by writing those fluffy letters. So she had never pressed the other woman on why she no longer talked about what she was doing. But if she hadn't been in a refugee camp all that time? If she truly had joined the Maquis? No, Kathleen would certainly not want to communicate that to her close friend that also happened to be an officer on a Starfleet vessel.

"B'Elanna?"

She looked up to see that only a dozen or so of the mourners remained. Julia and Moira were standing a short distance away with Owen, talking with what looked to be an elderly relation. But Tom had crossed to her side of the garden, regarding her with an expression that was a little perplexed and terribly, painfully sad.

"Hi," she greeted him, taking a step closer. "I'm so sorry. Kathleen was…" She stopped, shaking her head. "Well, you know everything she was. I can't even imagine what you… I wish I could… I'm sorry for your loss," she finished lamely.

"S'Ok," Tom replied, equally muted in tone. "I don't really know what to say, either. To my mom, or Moira, or the two hundred different people that told me these things happen for a reason, or that at least it was quick, or my personal favorite - she's in a better place now." His voice had gotten progressively angrier as he spoke, although he kept his volume controlled. "God, does anyone even believe that bullshit anymore?"

 _He's the polar opposite of Moira_ , Kathleen had said years ago when Tom and B'Elanna had still been dating. They'd had some stupid fight, and B'Elanna had complained about how Tom turned everything into a joke.

 _You can't be in the same room as Moira and not know how she's feeling any given moment. But Tom - he keeps things close. He pretends nothing bothers him, hides behind that damn smile of his. It can be like pulling teeth to figure out what he's really thinking. I worry some, that the facade is going to crack one day, and it's all going to come pouring out of him like a flood. I just hope I'll be there to help him. That he'll let me help him._

"Tom?" B'Elanna asked now. "I know you probably want to be with your family right now, but I'm not leaving Earth until tomorrow night. If you want, we could get some coffee, or…?"

Tom looked at her. Did she imagine the look of relief and gratitude that crossed his face? He closed the remaining gap between them. "I'd like tha-"

"She was a traitor!" A booming voice broke the reverent silence of the garden.

Both of their heads whipped around at the sound of Owen's angry shout, as did the heads of all those left in the garden. Tom's father had begun to pace in front of the columbarium, his arms waving and slapping at the hands Julia Paris stretched out in an attempt to restrain him.

"My own daughter!" he raged. "She spit in the face of Starfleet! Of the Federation! Everything I stand for!"

"Tommy!" Moira screeched as she backed away from her parents. "What are you doing? Help them!"

B'Elanna felt firm pressure on her hand and looked down to see that in the commotion, without her even noticing, Tom had taken her hand in his. He seemed near catatonic - his mouth agape, his eyes not even blinking. A bead of sweat tracked down his temple. He took a step backwards.

"Tom?" B'Elanna said, barely audible over Owen's continuing rant and Julia's anguished pleas for him to calm down.

Suddenly, without a word or a backwards glance, he dropped her hand and strode over to his parents. Gently pushing his mother away, he wrapped his arms around his father from behind. Ignoring what was likely a painful elbow to the gut, he started to murmur into the agitated man's ear.

It took some time before Owen's tirade began to peter off. Julia was shaking in the arms of a woman that was likely her sister or another close relative. A hysterical Moira was escorted back inside the hall by two others. Everyone else remaining began to dissipate in twos and threes, whispering to each other and stealing glances at the troubled man still restrained by his son.

B'Elanna could hear him now, Tom, as he continued a steady stream of reassurances to his father.

"It's not true, Dad. Kath would never do that. It's all lies. The Cardassians are just spreading lies again - about her, about our family. None of it's true. She would never do that to you."

A hovercar pulled up then, two good-sized men in what appeared to be nurses' uniforms emerging before they slowly approached Owen and Tom. Owen clung to his son, refusing to let go of his suit when the men came near. Tom waved the men off and walked his father to the car, pushing on Owen's head with a careful hand so he wouldn't bump it as he climbed inside. Tom stood, turning and locking eyes with B'Elanna. She took a step towards the car.

But he broke their connection before she could reach him, looking down and climbing in after his father.

A month later, B'Elanna was back on the _Herschel_ and her overnight schedule. She didn't want to admit it, but for the first week or two after the funeral she'd held out a small hope that Tom would call, or at least write - she'd left a message at his parents' house telling him when she was leaving Earth and how to reach her once she was gone. But there had been nothing. Not overly fond of introspection, she never asked herself why she hadn't made any further effort to reach out to him.

Then one night, after a particularly mind numbing shift, she returned to her small room to find two messages waiting for her. Unfortunately, neither had news she wanted to hear. The first was from her CO. She was getting transferred. Again. The second was a 'Fleet wide memo.

 _Lieutenant j.g. Thomas Eugene Paris has been declared AWOL. Intelligence reports have placed him as associating with known Maquis sympathizers. He is suspected of desertion and terrorism, and should be placed under arrest if sighted._


	21. Chapter 21

**October 2371**

Tom nodded to Harry Kim in greeting as he passed him on his way to the mess hall. This was good. If Harry was done with dinner, B'Elanna probably was as well. The new assistant chief engineer was nothing but professional during their occasional meetings on various _Voyager_ -related issues; but Tom knew he had hurt her that day in his quarters when she kissed him, and he figured it was better for everyone involved if he just stayed the hell away.

He was glad, though, that she'd found a friend in Harry. He saw them sometimes, on the other side of the mess, or on their way to the holodeck - sometimes with Lyndsay Ballard, but often just the two of them. He initially wondered if there was something more than friendship between them (and he cursed himself for the pang of jealousy that suspicion had caused) but it turned out Harry had a fiancé back home and still held out hope that someday he'd make it back to Earth and be reunited with him.

Their friendship meant Tom avoided off-duty time with Harry as well, which was yet another thing to feel bad about. The younger man seemed so sincere in his desire to unite the 'Fleet and Maquis crews and often asked Tom if he wanted to join him and B'Elanna for dinner or maybe workout together in the gym. But Tom always politely declined. It was easier to stick with the Maquis or even just eat with Tuvok. It wasn't that he was particularly close to any of them; it was that they all knew Tom long enough to know he didn't like people to ask him questions, and that they shouldn't expect much more than the occasional snarky comment or bad joke from the pilot.

So he flew the ship, always taking any extra shifts that needed coverage; he ate alone or nearly alone in the mess; he worked out in the gym or on the holodeck at times he knew they weren't crowded. He even slept a few hours, here and there, but only when he knew he didn't have another choice. Chakotay tried to engage him sometimes, but his old captain's patience for his sarcasm and defensiveness had never been particularly long; he would always give up on the pilot sooner rather than later during those conversations. Tom figured, before long, he'd stop trying to start them at all.

He entered the mess and joined the line for the latest foul tasting concoction from their resident Delta Quadrant expert and chef. There was one thing that Tom had looked forward to, when the two crews had merged and he fully comprehended that he'd be stuck on a "Fleet ship for the duration - working replicators. The one on the _Val Jean_ had been notoriously persnickety and frequently broken, and Chell's enthusiastically but recklessly prepared meals were not always made with human taste buds in mind. But given the uncertainty of finding reliable and renewable energy sources in the DQ, replicator use on _Voyager_ was being strictly regulated. Tom still had fond memories of the single pizza he'd been able to make before the new rules came online. Neelix made Chell look like a five star chef.

"Ah. Lieutenant Paris." Neelix greeted him with a stiff smile. The Talaxian seemed to regard all the former Maquis with suspicion, like the barely more than two dozen of them were about to stage a mutiny at a moment's notice. "We have a special treat today! An old family recipe - Merupax Curry!"

"Merupax?" Tom asked, dubiously regarding the blue grey chunks of what was possibly meat, floating in a grainy yellow liquid.

"I looked it up in your database, Lieutenant," Kes said, her trusting eyes blinking at him. "The merupax is similar to an Earth creature called an iguana."

"Oh," Tom said, his smile about as sincere as Neelix's. "That would explain the scales. Sounds delicious."

He sighed internally as he turned away from the dinner queue, his next mission to find an empty table, or at least one where no one would try to talk to him. And that's when he saw something that made his stomach turn more than the curry.

Seska. Sitting with B'Elanna. Talking and laughing and probably fucking _flirting_ knowing her, with B'Elanna.

His hands gripped the tray. He should walk away, probably even leave the mess entirely. ( _It's not like I'm going to eat this vile looking stew._ ) That's what Chakotay had asked him to do. Had ordered him to do, really.

Within a couple of days of them coming on board, Tom had confronted the now Commander Chakotay in his shiny new 'Fleet digs. "What are you going to tell Janeway about Seska?" he'd demanded.

"Nothing," Chakotay said. "And neither are you."

"Chakotay! You said she's a spy for the Cardassians! We can't trust her! We can't just let her walk around the ship like another member of the crew!"

"I said she _might_ be a spy for the Cardassians," he replied in that damn calm voice of his. "We have no way to prove it out here, either way. But even if she was a Cardie spy, she's cut off from them now, and she's still Bajoran. I can work with her - give her a chance to prove herself. Maybe if we show some faith in her, even if she was a spy, she'll come around - be an asset to the ship and the crew."

"Or maybe she'll cut our throats while we sleep!" Tom snapped.

"That's enough, Paris!" Chakotay barked back at him. "Things are going to be hard enough for the Maquis without me running to Janeway and telling her one of my crew might be a damn spy! The captain needs reasons to trust us, not justification to throw us all in the brig. It's my decision and you _will_ abide by it. So stand the fuck down, Lieutenant!"

"Yes, _sir_ ," Tom snarled, storming out of the office and telling himself that not saying anything to Janeway didn't mean he couldn't keep an eye on Seska all on his own.

Now here she was, sharing a meal with B'Elanna. He wouldn't, he _couldn't_ , take a chance that Seska didn't have any nefarious plans in mind. Not with B'Elanna involved. He walked over to the table and dropped his tray next to where Seska sat, taking a small amount of pleasure when flecks of the yellowish gruel splashed onto her uniform. "What the hell, Paris?" she snapped, glaring at him.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be? _Crewman_?" Tom could see B'Elanna's confused and annoyed expression out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't worry about that right now.

"You have got to be kidding me," Seska sneered. "You're going to pull rank on me? _Lieutenant_?"

"We're just having dinner," B'Elanna said, in a tone Tom recognized as just this side of pissed off. "We had a long day in Engineering."

"I need her to go to shuttle bay one and help with the overhaul on the _Sacajawea_ ," he said from between gritted teeth, not taking his eyes from the Bajoran's.

"Tom!" B'Elanna snapped. "We just got off shift. There are plenty of other engineers that can go down there!"

Her eyes narrowing, Seska rose to standing. "No, B'Elanna. It's fine. After all," she said, dragging a finger across Tom's chest. "I know exactly how Paris likes his shuttles to fly." She looked back at B'Elanna before she walked away. "We'll have dinner another time. When the company's a little better."

"What the fuck was that?" B'Elanna hissed, pitched just loud enough for him to hear.

Tom glanced around the mess, realizing most of the eyes in the room were on the little table. _Shit. More fodder for the rumor mill._ "It was… nothing. A Maquis thing. You wouldn't understand." He walked swiftly out of the room, abandoning his tray of space iguana and wondering who was going to be most pissed at him in the end - Seska? Chakotay? B'Elanna? Really, it was a complete toss up.

He got on the turbolift and called for his deck. B'Elanna slipped in beside him just before the doors closed. "B'Elanna, it's not a-"

"A good time?" she finished. "It never is with you anymore. But if you think you can just walk up and order one of _my_ engineers around like that, we need to come to a new understanding. _Lieutenant_."

Ever since he'd gotten his rank reinstated, Tom considered, it seemed like more people sneered it at him as an insult, rather than used it to denote any level of respect. "You're right. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." The turbolift opened on his deck and he walked purposefully towards his quarters, hoping B'Elanna would take the hint and not follow.

No such luck.

"Don't just walk away from me!" she growled, coming up alongside him. "We are not done here."

"B'Elanna," he said to his door. "I hear what you're saying, and I apologize. I told you I won't do it again. What else do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me what's wrong with you!" she cried. "I want you to tell me why you don't talk to anyone, why you work every duty shift you can, and why you look like you haven't slept in a week! What the hell happened to you, Tom?"

He opened his door and walked in, knowing there was no throwing her off this time. He had to tell her something, even if it wasn't the answer she was looking for. But it didn't have to happen in the middle of the hallway. He waved at one of the chairs as an invitation. B'Elanna chose to remain standing.

"Look, about Seska," he started, holding out hope that a simple misdirection would do the trick. "I know her a lot better than you do. Just… do me a favor, and don't trust her with too much, OK?"

"Not OK," she retorted. "Why should I just take your word for it? She's a competent tech, and she's one of the few Maquis that doesn't talk to me like I'm a new species of pond scum-"

"Who's giving you a hard time?" Tom interjected. "I'll talk to them. You don't-"

"I don't," she growled, "need you to defend me against your Maquis buddies. I can deal with it myself, Tom. And if you have an issue with Seska, tell me what it is, and I'll deal with that, too."

"I can't," he said, weakly he knew. "I just need you to trust me on this one."

Her disgust was evident. "Trust you? Oh, please. You hide in your quarters when you're not on duty, you don't engage with anyone - not even the other Maquis - and I should trust you? Someone on this ship is acting like they're hiding something, Tom, and it's not Seska."

He sat down heavily on the couch. What could he say to that? She wasn't exactly wrong - he'd been far from open with her since they'd seen each other again. He couldn't think of the last time he'd been open with anyone, really.

"It doesn't make any damn sense!" she said, pacing around his room. "You don't make any sense! You were always the one that put your family first. So how does that guy end up abandoning them to join the Maquis? You gave up your career, you gave up everything! You couldn't even go to your own father's funeral!" She whipped around to stare at him. "Have you read the intel reports? The things they've said about you? What the hell happened, Tom? Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or are you too much of a zombie these days to even do that?"

He looked up at her, standing there all pissed off and guarded, and he knew what he should do. He should tell her that nothing had happened, really. That he had joined the Maquis for the same reasons a lot of people do - he disagreed with the Treaty, he found Starfleet stifling, he wanted to kill Cardassians. All of those things were true, after all, to a degree. And B'Elanna would look at him like she didn't know who he was anymore, and she'd be right. And she'd walk out the door, and maybe she'd finally give up on him for good.

But he didn't want to hide anymore. He wanted to tell someone, finally - all of it, the whole sordid tale. He wanted to tell _B'Elanna_. It wasn't fair to her, really. It wasn't something he should burden someone else with - least of all someone he loved as much as he still loved her. But he was so tired of keeping it all in, of pushing everyone away.

The irony being, of course, that once he told her everything she'd probably never want to talk to him again.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked her finally. "What happened? How I ended up in the Maquis?"

She looked at him, her expression surprised. She sat down on the couch, just out of reach. "Yes," she said. "I do."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence - some of it directed at an animal- so if that sort of thing upsets you, consider yourself warned. Rest assured, however, that no actual animals were harmed in the writing of this fic - not even the fat orange cat that likes to hide behind my laptop screen and bat at my hands while I type.

* * *

 **June/July 2370**

"What are you doing here, Lieutenant?" inquired a melodic voice.

Tom looked up from his desk, confused. "I thought you wanted me to prepare the quarterly report."

Commander Cal Hudson was the Starfleet attaché to the newly created demilitarized zone between Federation and Cardassian space. He was also Tom's new CO. "I don't mean here in the office, Paris. I mean, here on Volan III. It's hardly the obvious choice for a pilot." His lined face was unreadable.

"You don't think flying your runabout around the DMZ is exciting enough for me, sir?" Tom asked with a small smile. He kept his voice light to hide his wariness.

"No," Hudson said, matching his tone. "I don't."

"With all due respect, Commander," Tom replied, meeting the tall man's deep brown eyes, "you're too good of an officer to not know the service record of your new assistant attaché."

Tom's performance during his two years on the _Exeter_ had been exemplary. At least it had been until the very end. It was a tactical vessel that patrolled the area near the Neutral Zone and, on paper, was the ideal posting for him. There had been dog fights with a renegade group of Romulans, assisting with research on some particularly tricky nebulas, and plenty of room for advancement. After only six months on board, Captain Songkhla had told him he was being fast tracked for command based on his performance. It was what his father had always wanted for him.

And Tom felt satisfied at the beginning - or at least had managed to convince himself he was. But then he would get a letter from Julia about his father's declining condition, or maybe one from Kathleen about the Bajoran refugees and the suffering they endured, and he'd feel like everything he was doing was so fucking pointless. He told himself he could find fulfillment in some other way - it didn't have to be from his job - but instead he found himself moving through a series of hookups and flings, as well as through progressively larger amounts of alcohol. He had managed to compartmentalize his personal self-destruction from his professional responsibilities for months - until one particularly bad night shortly after he was promoted to lieutenant.

He'd blacked out and had woken up nearly an hour late in his quarters - half-dressed in less-than-fresh clothing, with no memory of what had happened the night before, how he'd gotten into his bed, or whose cologne was still lingering on the pillows. He'd rushed through his morning ablutions, throwing on a clean uniform and brushing his teeth before jogging to the shuttle bay, his head pounding.

But as he entered the bay and took in the concerned looks of his crewmates, he pulled up short. _What am I doing?_ he asked himself, rubbing a hand over his haggard, unshaven face. He was in no condition to fly a shuttle - he'd barely been in condition to run to the shuttle bay, having had to fight a nearly overwhelming urge to throw up in the turbolift.

"You OK, Paris?" asked the ranking officer on the mission, an easy-going engineer that Tom was friendly with. "You're looking a little rough."

"Actually, Lieutenant Day," Tom croaked back at him, "I don't think I am. I'll call for another pilot for you. Sorry to mess up your schedule."

So he called for his backup, claiming he was ill and heading for Sickbay. Instead, after fleeing the shuttle bay, he found himself staring at the closed door of the ship counselor's office. The man startled when he opened his door and found Tom standing there, the pilot still not having worked up the nerve to ring the chime. "It's Paris, right?" the older man asked with a warm smile, immediately regaining his composure. "Why don't you come in?"

After they talked for an hour, the counselor contacted the captain and suggested Lieutenant Paris be granted a few weeks' leave. Everyone, Tom included, thought it was a good idea for him to transfer to another posting (the counselor hadn't been totally able to hide his alarm when Tom revealed exactly how many of his fellow officers he had fooled around with). There was an official reprimand placed on his record; but it was only a minor infraction, as Tom had realized the risks he was taking and the damage he was doing to himself before any real harm was done. Songkhla had reassured him that this was just a small setback, encouraged him to continue with regular counseling, and wished him well on his next posting.

"You're right," Hudson said, as he leaned on the corner of Tom's desk. "I am too good to not be familiar with your service record. But that just tells me why you aren't on the _Exeter_ anymore. It doesn't tell me why you requested duty here."

Tom would have been happy to explain, except that he didn't entirely understand it himself. His counselor at HQ had suggested instructing at the Academy for a while, maybe become a test pilot. But Tom felt himself drawn to this diplomatic posting instead. He gave Hudson the closest thing to an answer he had. "I suspect you also know who my father is, sir. And what the Cardassians did to him."

"I do, Lieutenant," the commander replied after a pause. "I served with him briefly. Were you aware of that? It was just a temporary assignment on the _Al-Batani_ , but we worked pretty closely together that month. He was a good captain, your father. Smart, decisive."

Tom swallowed hard and stared at his monitor, feeling like the commander's perceptive stare was boring a hole directly into his brain. Where was Hudson going with all this? "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"He also," Hudson continued after another moment, "was scary as hell. I'm pretty sure one of his ops officers needed a new pair of shorts when your father caught him messing up the sensor sweeps."

Tom looked back up, surprised, but broke into a laugh when he saw Hudson's warm smile. "That sounds like Dad."

Hudson's face grew serious again as he placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. "You seem like a good officer, Tom, and a compassionate one. But I need your reassurance that you aren't looking at this posting as a way to get back at the Cardassians - that you aren't on some mission of vengeance. Because that's the last thing the Federations citizens here need. We need officers that can keep a cool head, diffuse tension. Not ones that will make it worse."

"Of course, Commander," Tom said quickly. "I understand what our job is here. You can count on me."

"Glad to hear it, Paris," Hudson replied as he rose from the desk. "I'll let you get back to that report."

So Tom put his head down and went back to work. And he found he liked it, actually. He got to know many of the colonists - spent a lot of time traveling to the different settlements when Hudson was too busy to go himself. He learned about the challenges and the worries these people faced, understood better why they had refused to leave after the treaty was signed.

But the reports he got from the colonists were also increasingly troubling. Harassment in the streets by Cardassian authorities, destruction of resources and equipment that couldn't be explained by weather or wildlife. And there was the poisoned replicators on Umoth VII. No one could prove it was the Cardassians that were behind it, but no one could disprove it, either. Yet Hudson's face remained impassive when he sat down with Tom for briefings.

"Commander!" he finally exclaimed in exasperation one day, when Hudson had barely lifted an eyebrow after hearing about a vital weather shield generator that had been damaged beyond repair. "We can't just sit by and do nothing about this! The Cardassians are making these planets uninhabitable!"

"Cool heads, Lieutenant," Hudson intoned, looking at his PADD instead of at his incensed aide-de-camp. "We need cool heads."

One day, Tom got a letter from his mother.

 _His doctors think it's best if I don't visit for a while. Apparently it's started to upset him more than anything else. As hard as it is for me to admit, I have to agree with them. He still asks for you, every time, and doesn't seem to understand why you can't come. He gets so angry. But please don't think I'm telling you this to upset you, darling - Kathleen seems to believe everything that comes out of my mouth is an attempt to induce guilt in one of you. You're where he'd want you to be, doing what he'd want you to do. He'd be so proud of you, Tom. Always remember that._

Tom wished letters still came on paper, like they did a few hundred years ago. It would be so much more satisfying to crumple Julia Paris' words into a tight ball and pitch them across the room, versus just tapping a button to make the screen go blank. It's not that he was angry at his mother - she'd been through so much, watching her husband fade away right before her eyes. It was more that he was angry _for_ her. He was angry for all of them, really - his mother, his sisters, himself. Even for the 'Fleet - his father could have done so much, accomplished so many more things for the Federation. But the Cardassians had ripped all that away.

He raked his hands through his hair and decided to take an early lunch. Hudson was off planet, meeting with his Cardassian counterpart about some freighter that had been sabotaged - for some reason, the Cardies thought there was a link to the colonists. There was nothing particularly pressing happening in the office that morning, and he needed some air.

He wandered aimlessly through the open air market, forcing a smile to his face when he was greeted by various shopkeepers and passers-by. He stopped by his favorite farm stand to see if they had any apples. He was sampling some of the mango-like fruit that grew on a nearby settlement when he saw a familiar blonde head bobbing through the crowd.

"Can't be," he murmured to himself, promising the farmer he'd be back later to make his purchase and moving towards the woman he spotted. The purposeful walk, the perfect posture - it was her all right. "Kath!" he called out.

His sister froze in her tracks, her eyes wide and tense as she scanned the crowd to see who had called her name. He caught up with her in a few steps.

"Hey," he said with small smile, confused by her presence on Volan as well as her obvious nervousness. "What are you doing here?"

"Tommy!" she cried in greeting, her apprehension now replaced by relief. She gave him a quick hug. "I was just looking for you!"

His forehead creased, and he gestured over his shoulder. "The Starfleet offices are back that way," he said. "Anyone could have told you that."

"Right!" she said, her voice overly loud. "Stupid me. Let's go for a walk. Do you have time?"

Tom readily agreed, and they moved to walk the streets of a quieter residential area just off the central market. He shared the contents of Julia's letter with his sister, not sure what his mother had told with her, given their difficult relationship. Kath made a small moue of sadness, but otherwise had little reaction.

"You don't care?" he snapped at her. "That Mom isn't even allowed to visit him anymore? I knew it was a bad idea to put him in that place."

"Tom," Kath scolded him softly. "Putting him in the care facility isn't what caused this. The damage to his neural pathways is what caused this. Nothing could have stopped it, sweetie. It was inevitable."

Irritated that she was taking the news so calmly, he changed the subject. "What are you even doing on Volan? It's not like they let just anyone travel within the DMZ. I hope you have a good reason - it's really not that safe here."

"I'm well aware," she said. "But that's why they need medical supplies. And that's why I'm here."

Tom snorted. "You're delivering medical supplies? You're one of what? A half dozen infectious disease specialists in this sector, and they have you delivering medical supplies? What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing!" she said, too quickly. "I just thought it would be a good excuse to see my favorite little brother-"

"Only little brother."

She rolled her eyes. "A technicality. The point is, I wanted to visit. Make sure you're doing OK after what happened on the _Exeter_. Are you? OK, I mean?"

He shrugged. "I guess so. It's a better fit, I think. I feel like I'm making a difference. Or at least I'm trying to. It's frustrating at times, though. I can't tell you much, but-"

"Please!" A panicked cry ripped across the quiet street. "Just leave us alone!"

All of Tom's senses went on high alert. "Stay here!" he barked at his sister, then ran towards the direction of the shouts and pleas. He rounded the corner towards an alley that led back into the marketplace to see a small family he knew - the heavier man, Jorge, was a teacher at the local school, his husband was on the settlement council. Their daughter, Reyna, was not quite six. She was a shy little thing with big brown eyes that dominated her delicate features. The young girl often hid behind one of her fathers when Tom ran into them on the street.

Their egress from the alley was blocked by a hulking Cardassian man, dressed in a Union Guard uniform. "What's going on here?" Tom demanded.

The Cardassian turned towards Tom slowly, a taunting sneer contorting his slate colored features. "Ah!" he said, his smile broadening. "A Federation officer. How lovely." He had a tiny black kitten clutched in his hand. It made a mewling sound, revealing a flash of pink tongue.

"What is going on?" Tom asked again, his voice low and threatening.

"Please," the council member begged. Aaron was his name. "Please give our daughter back her pet. Then we'll be on our way. We won't say anything to anyone."

The Cardassian returned his cold stare back to the colonists. "Of course you won't," he declared. "Who would you tell? The Federation here?" he asked, jerking his head back towards Tom. "There's little he'd be able to do. Perhaps he could write a report." He turned to meet Tom's glare steadily. "You Federation types certainly like your reports."

Tom took a step closer to the alley. "Do what the man asked. Give him back the animal, get back on your ship, and go."

"But I'm not quite done here," the Cardassian protested with a reptilian smile, now kneeling down in front of the girl. "What is this little creature called, my sweet? It is quite wonderful. Perhaps my children would like one as a pet."

"It's a kitten," Aaron answered for her, clutching a pale hand tightly to his daughter's shoulder. The tiny animal continued its plaintive cries.

"I asked your daughter!" the Cardassian roared back at him, not rising from his crouch. "She needs to learn to speak when she is spoken to!" His fist tightened on the kitten, and the cries increased in volume. His voice dropped again. "Tell me, my sweet. What is it called?"

"A kitten," Reyna whispered, eyes wide and lips trembling.

"Give it back to them," Tom growled, his nails digging sharply into his palms. "And get on your damn ship."

The Cardassian stood and turned to face Tom. "It's unfortunate that you have no authority to make me do any of that, Federation." He flashed a toothy grin. "No authority at all." He gently stroked the small animal he still gripped in his hand. "We have a similar creature on Cardassia Prime. It is called a _braasaka_. The juveniles are quite popular amongst our youth. My eldest has owned seven. Vicious things, though, when they reach maturity. We have to kill them then - before their venom comes in." His hand gripped tighter around the kitten's neck. It began to struggle in earnest, clawing futilely at the leathery Cardassian skin. It was no longer able to get enough air to cry.

It was as if Tom's fist decided to act before his brain did. Time slowed. An angry buzz rang in his ears as his knuckles made hard contact with the startled Cardassian's throat. The kitten fell to the ground, and the Cardassian reached up towards Tom to block the next punch or launch his own attack - it didn't really matter which.

Because Tom wasn't going to give him the opportunity to do either. Despite the other having the advantage of both height and weight, Tom's rage fueled a new-found strength. He gripped his opponent's arms and kicked his legs out from under him, letting him drop hard to the pavement. He then fell upon the Cardassian, a sharp knee to the man's groin, his fists pummeling at his face. He felt cartilage bend and bones crack. He heard shouts and cries, but couldn't understand the words. He supposed the Cardassian might be begging for mercy.

Too bad for him Tom didn't have any left to give.

A blow landed on him here and there - a sharp clip to his ear, an elbow to the ribs - but it barely registered. He grabbed onto the Cardassian's hair and began to pound his head into the pavement - over and over, the officer's blood flicking across his face, the sound of bone and tissue smacking onto asphalt echoing in his ears. Hands gripped his shoulders and pulled at him. A voice called him from very far away. It was someone he knew.

"Tom!" Kathleen screamed in his ear, her voice getting closer and closer until everything snapped into focus. "Tom, stop it! You're killing him!"

The Cardassian's head fell from his grasp, and it landed with a final sickening thud against the ground. Tom straightened from his crouch over the very still body, his hands shaking and covered in blood. He stumbled as he tried to stand and could only manage to crawl his way across the alley. His stomach heaved, and the fruit he had eaten earlier in the market dropped onto the pavement in a small, partially digested heap. The sickly sweet smell of ripe fruit mixed with bile filled the narrow space.

"Go," he heard his sister urge the family. "Aaron, tell some of the others to come help us. And make sure no one else heads this way."

Even with his brain churning like he was delirious with fever, Tom wondered how his sister knew the name of a Volan colonist. He looked up just in time to meet Reyna's wide, terrified eyes. She was clutching the little kitten to her chest. Its head hung limp from its body, the tiny tongue now purple and swollen.

Activity swirled around him - there were hurried footsteps and urgent whispers. He saw the Cardassian's body dragged away, leaving a smear of blood behind him. His hands felt numb and his ears rang. Kath's face appeared in front of his, cupping his cheeks. "Tom?" she asked. "Hey. You with me, little brother?"

He nodded dumbly in response, and she pulled him to standing. He blinked against a wave of dizziness that swept through him, clutching at Kathleen's shoulder in order to stay upright.

"You can do this, Tommy," she said, her voice pitched low and encouraging. "You're going to stay up, and you're going to walk with me. You can do this."

He stumbled and tripped alongside her, fighting to keep up as she pulled him out of the alley. He caught a glimpse of the Cardassian's boot where it protruded from under a tarp. "He's dead," he whispered. "I killed him."

"He's not dead." Kathleen kept him moving. "Not yet, anyway. Keep walking."

Tom started to resist, tried to slow their pace. "No," he said, near sobbing. "I have to turn myself in. I have to... That family, they saw what I did. The security feed."

She stopped then and turned so their faces were nearly touching. She kept his biceps in a strong grip. Tom wasn't sure he'd still be upright otherwise. "Security feeds can be altered," she said firmly. "And that family thinks you're a goddamn hero. No more talking. You are coming with me. Now."

He went, if for no other reason that she pulled him along like an inexorable ocean tide. The familiar winding streets passed by in a blur, until they stopped in a small, unkempt garden, shielded from its neighbors by high stone walls. Kathleen pushed him through a door into a low ceilinged basement. The quick transition from the bright outdoors meant he could see little of his surroundings at first. He noticed a small bank of computers and monitors along the back wall, and a petite woman with bobbed violet hair and dark eyes approached them.

"We're good," the woman said. "By some crazy coincidence, a power surge knocked out the security feed in that entire section about an hour ago." She grinned at Tom. "Lucky us, right?"

"Lucky us," Kathleen agreed. "Thanks, Xiu Mei. We need some space for a few, OK?"

"Sure, Kat," she replied, then pecked Kathleen on the lips. "I'll see you on Soltak."

"Come on, kiddo," Kath said gently as she wrapped her arm around her brother's shoulders. "Let's sit down."

Tom found himself sitting on a small but comfortably padded chair, staring at his trembling blood stained hands. A few moments later, his sister knelt before him with a wet cloth, scrubbing them clean. "Kath," he whispered hoarsely, "where are we?"

"Somewhere safe," she answered, moving to clean the blood off his face. "That's all you need to know right now."

"Safe," he spat out. "There's nowhere safe for me." He startled to babble, his voice climbing to a hysterical pitch. "They're going to find out, Kath. The Cardies. They're going to come for me. Hudson won't have a choice, he'll have to turn me over to them. The treaty - we can't violate the treaty. The Cardassians are going to come for me."

"Shhh," Kath soothed, passing gentle hands through his matted, sweaty hair. "It's OK, Tommy. No one is coming for you. I promise. I will not let anyone take you. It's going to be OK."

"Kath," he asked again, his voice pleading, "where are we?"

They called themselves the Maquis. It was mostly colonists living in the DMZ mixed with former members of the Bajoran Resistance. Some, like Kathleen, were other Federation citizens that could no longer sit idly by while their government abandoned a sizeable portion of its populace. There were also a fair number of sympathetic Starfleet officers within their ranks. The common thread between them all being they didn't trust the Cardassians, and they didn't trust the treaty or the Federation to protect them. "That Cardassian freighter that Cal Hudson's dealing with? That's us," she told him.

Tom wanted to find a quiet hole to crawl into and never come out again. His mind was reeling. "The freighter? Your people blew it up? But how do you even…? Why?"

"It wasn't some benign cargo ship, Tom," his sister stated. "They were carrying weapons to arm Cardassian colonists. The Cardies don't want us here, and they're not going to make it easy for us to stay. The peaceful way isn't going to work anymore. We have to fight back."

He buried his face in his hands. "Fuck, Kath. I don't know what to say. I don't even know what to think. You're a terrorist?"

She chucked his chin gently. "We prefer freedom fighters," she said, her mouth quirked.

"Jesus," Tom said shakily, standing and pacing the room.

"The thing you have to focus on," Kath said as she stood to join him, "is that we can help you. The timing isn't so bad, actually. We're ready to go public - take responsibility for the freighter. We can claim this, too, if we have to."

Tom stared at her, dumbfounded. "Claim this…? Kath, what are you talking about? I need to come forward! I need to admit to what I did! I killed someone. Or nearly killed someone. I can't hide from that!"

"You can and you will," she said, steel in her voice. "I never wanted you here. You were never supposed to get caught up in this. But you are now, and if you think I'm going to let the Cardassians have you after what they did to Dad…!" She took a deep breath. "You are not coming forward, Tom. You're going to do exactly what I say, and you're going to stay safe."

She pushed him back onto the chair and grabbed a medkit to patch up his cuts and bruises, as well as hairline fractures of three of his metacarpals. He continued to sit, a mug of hot tea clutched in his hands, numb with shock and fear, as Kath checked the various monitors and talked in hushed tones over the comm. After the tea had long gone cold, Kathleen turned her attention back to him. "Tom?" she said softly. "There's someone you need to see."

Tom looked up at the newest occupant of the cellar hideout. It was Cal Hudson. "So much for cool heads," he sighed.

=/\=

Three weeks later and Tom almost felt like he could breathe again. Hudson had arranged for an elderly couple - Maquis sympathizers whose age and infirmity freed them of any suspicion - to find the injured Cardassian where he lay unconscious a few streets over from where Tom had beaten him senseless. As his physician sister promised, the officer had little memory of who had attacked him and why - there had been too much trauma to his brain, and Cardassian neurological medicine wasn't nearly as advanced as the Federation's. "Maybe they should have spent a little more time learning how to repair neural pathways instead of just destroying them," Kathleen had speculated darkly.

Given that the Starfleet attaché to the DMZ was responsible for the investigation, the Federation had been unable to find any leads as to who had committed the attack. Hudson's counterpart, Gul Evek, was more interested in finding those responsible for the bombing of the freighter _Bok'Nor_ to spend much time chasing dead ends about a single brain injured officer. The matter was summarily dropped.

Meanwhile, Tom learned why his CO seemed so blasé about the injustices inflicted upon the Federation citizens of the DMZ. It was because he had a long game - one in which Tom was now deeply involved. A good part of him wanted to toss off his uniform and jump fully into the increasingly public fray, but Kath reined him back. "Think of Mom, Tommy. And we need people like you - ones that have connections to the 'Fleet. What you're doing is important."

So he and Hudson worked quietly behind the scenes - clearing escape routes, laying false trails, directing suspicion away from their friends and colleagues when needed. Tom couldn't stop himself from laughing one morning when he got a particularly frustrated message from Evek about yet another diverted Xepolite cargo ship, blocked on its passage to a Cardassian controlled colony.

The next day he wondered if he would ever be able to laugh again.

"You'll be happy to know, Commander," Evek declared as he marched into the office where Tom and Hudson examined a map of proposed routes for weapons shipments, "that I've finally made headway in dealing with the Maquis problem. Far more than you've been able to achieve."

"I'm not sure what counts for manners on Cardassia Prime, Evek," Hudson drawled as Tom discreetly secured the file, "but on Earth, it's customary to knock when entering a room."

"I'll try to keep that in mind for the future," the stout Cardassian said, his lip curled. "But aren't you curious to hear my news?"

"Always," the commander replied, matching his counterpart's tone.

"Do you remember my officer?" the gul asked. "The one that was attacked here, just outside your marketplace?"

Tom fought to keep his face impassive. Hudson put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He could almost hear his CO's words. _Cool heads, Tom. We need cool heads._

"I remember it well, Evek," Hudson said calmly. "I also remember there were no leads."

" _You_ found no leads," Evek corrected. "Forgive me, Commander, but I suspect I am a bit more… motivated than you. To find the culprit." The Cardassian wandered over to a small table by the window, gently fingering the orchid that sat there. "One of your colonists - a merchant of some sort - deviated from his registered flight plan and got rather too close to Cardassian space. We had him detained, of course-"

"You had him detained?!" Tom snapped, half standing. "You have no right-" Hudson pushed him firmly back into his seat.

"Stand down, Lieutenant," Tom's CO intoned. "Let's listen to the rest of what he has to say."

"We discovered he was here, in the market, on the day of the attack. And he was quite responsive to interrogation," Evek continued. "Sadly, he was unable to give me the name of the person that attacked, and has permanently disabled I might add, my officer. However, in return for leniency, he did offer me quite a bit of other helpful information. Apparently, one of the ships you allow to fly through the DMZ has not been carrying medical supplies as they claimed. Apparently, what they've really been supplying is weapons. To _your_ colonists."

Tom stared at Evek's fingers as they played with delicate white and purple petals of the flower. Kath's ship. He was talking about Kath's ship.

"What did you do, Evek?" Hudson asked, his voice hollow.

"I protected my people, Hudson," Evek replied with a sneer. "Something at which you have failed utterly. There were casualties, of course." He tossed a PADD onto the desk. "Here are a list of the individual DNA patterns we found amongst the wreckage. Mostly human, you'll see. I've made arrangements to have any... remains delivered to you. I'm sure you'd prefer to notify the families yourselves."

Tom and Hudson sat in stunned silence as Evek left the office, knocking against the side table as he turned. The orchid fell to the floor, its vase shattering into dozens of pieces.

* * *

 **October 2371**

Tom let his head fall back against the arm of the couch, at some point during his story having slumped entirely to the floor. He felt wrung out and shaky, like he was recovering from a long illness. He hazarded a quick glance at B'Elanna. She was just staring at him, her mouth open as if she'd forgotten to breathe.

"So, now you know," Tom said to the floor, unable to keep looking at her. "All of it - why I joined the Maquis, how I got my sister killed." He curled his head down onto his knees and braced himself for B'Elanna's anger - for what he'd done to Kath, for burdening her with his shame and guilt. "After what happened, after what _I did_ … I knew there was nothing left for me. Nothing except maybe getting some justice for Kathleen and my dad. But, instead, I'm stuck here on this ship, and there you were, and you _kissed_ me. Like I was still the same Tom… The one that was worth something. But I'm not, B'Elanna. I don't deserve to be here, or to be with you. I'm sorry I'm not him anymore, for dumping this on you, for everything. I'm just… sorry."

"Tom…" B'Elanna's voice trailed off. He could see it - the hurt, the shock, the sense of betrayal. It was all there, and that was his fault, too.

"It's a lot to take in," she said finally, starting to lower herself to the floor to sit beside him. "I'm not sure…"

" _Senior staff to the bridge."_

 _Saved by the bell._ He jumped to his feet. "It's OK. You don't have to say anything. I'll leave you alone. You don't have to worry about that, at least," he said. He rubbed his hands over his face as he moved quickly towards his door.

"Tom, wait!" she called after him as he strode towards the turbolift. But he didn't have the heart to look back.


	23. Chapter 23

**October 2371**

B'Elanna stifled a yawn as she made her way to the mess hall for "breakfast." She was on gamma shift the next three weeks, so had just woken up when most of alpha was heading for dinner. Technically it was her day off, but given her duties as Assistant Chief, that just meant she had time to attack a mile-long to-do list of reports and diagnostic reviews. Being awake when much of the rest of the ship was asleep meant she might finally get to do her work with minimal distractions.

That wasn't the only reason she was thankful for the relative peace and quiet that was gamma. Not even a week ago, Tom had told her everything that happened on Volan, and she needed time to process. As she had sat there on his couch, she'd felt like she was trapped in a bad holonovel. She couldn't reconcile the Tom she knew - the one that had patiently worked through those terrible Academy papers with her, or that would drop everything to help his parents, or even that had comforted her when she cried over what she had left behind in the Alpha Quadrant - with the brutality of the attack on the Cardassian officer.

After he'd finished telling her, at one point sliding to the floor as if he didn't even deserve to share a piece of furniture with her, Tom had looked like he was a whipped dog waiting to be punished. And she couldn't deny that part of her had been angry with him - wishing he'd left her in the dark instead of forcing her to imagine the vivid, ugly actions that now permeated her thoughts of him. She'd spent so much of her waking life battling the violent urges that were the birthright of her Klingon heritage - a part of her couldn't help but view how Tom had succumbed to his rage as a failure, as a sign of some inherent deficiency.

But, as the days had passed, what she most remembered was his look of despair and self-loathing. She considered that if she was troubled by the images of Tom beating the Cardassian, what must it be like for him? She thought of his obvious remorse and disgust over what had happened. But then she also thought of what it meant that he had jumped in with both feet to join the Maquis after Kath's death and had probably gone on to be responsible for the deaths and injuries of many Cardassians beyond that first, awful assault. However, they _were_ Cardassians - known across the Alpha Quadrant for their cruelty and lack of mercy. And so her thoughts looped around again, and she was back to square one.

All of which meant she was glad she and Tom were on opposite shifts for the time being.

As expected, the dinner commotion of the mess hall was waning by the time she entered. She was happy to see, however, that Harry and Lyndsay were still there with a couple of ensigns from Stellar Cartography. Based on the women's rapt expressions, Harry was spinning quite the exciting tale.

"Janeway heard omicron particles, and that settled it. She actually said 'There's coffee in that nebula,'" he said, getting a laugh from the two science ensigns.

He blew a stray piece of hair from his forehead. "It didn't end so funny," he said grimly, but his expression lightened when he saw B'Elanna and he smiled. "Hey, stranger."

She joined the small group. "What didn't end so funny?" she asked, snatching a leftover bit of cake from Harry's tray.

"The nebula we got trapped in today," Harry replied. "Didn't you hear?"

"Gamma, remember?" she said. "I've been sleeping through most of the good stuff the last few days."

So Harry restarted his story of what had initially looked like a potential goldmine of omicron particles to help supplement _Voyager_ 's overtaxed energy reserves. It had turned out, however, that the "nebula" was a unique Delta Quadrant lifeform - one that they had badly injured in their attempt to harvest the particles. The reserves they were trying to supplement had taken a bad hit when they'd escaped from the nebula the first time - Janeway deemed it too risky to go back in to repair the damage they caused.

"So Paris announces he'll go in by himself - that we can modify a shuttle to produce the nucleonic radiation needed to heal the wound," Harry continued. "Janeway looked at him like he was nuts."

B'Elanna sat back in her chair, relieved. "She didn't let him go then." At least the captain was saving Tom from himself, even if she didn't realize she was doing it.

Harry shook his head. "No, she let him go. We didn't have another option!" he added at the look of anger and disbelief on B'Elanna's face. "None of us felt good about leaving a lifeform to die because of damage we caused; and no one had another suggestion that didn't risk _Voyager_."

"What about risking _Voyager_ 's chief pilot?" she snapped, her spine straightening. _Of all the idiotic, suicidal…_ She felt a chill go through her. Someone would have told her, right? If Tom had been badly injured… or worse? Except, why would they? It's not like they ever spent any time together, or that their prior relationship was common knowledge. Most people probably didn't even know they were Academy classmates.

"It should have worked, though," Harry insisted. "Carey modified the deflector to emit a tetryon pulse as a distraction, and Paris flew in on the _Cochrane_ to fix what we did. It was going fine - just like clockwork. Until there was a power fluctuation to the deflector, and the lifeform noticed the presence of the shuttle. At that point the rift was mostly sealed, and Janeway ordered Paris out of there. But he didn't respond to her hails, didn't stop working on the rift - it's like he froze. He snapped out of it, not even a minute later, but by then it was too late. His shuttle got nailed by a multi-polaric charge. He lost helm control, life support, everything. Commander Chakotay had to take the conn so that _Voyager_ could get close enough to beam him out."

"Is he OK?" she asked, her voice tight and hands clenched. "Well? Is he?" she demanded, banging her fist against the table when Harry didn't immediately answer. "Or did you not even bother to ask?" The others were staring at her in concern and alarm, but she didn't care.

"I think so," Harry said tentatively. "I mean, I heard he will be. All I know is he's off duty for at least a week. I didn't ask anything beyond that." Her young friend grimaced in the face of her continued silence. "I'm sorry, B'Elanna. I knew you two knew each other… before; I just didn't realize you were close."

"No," B'Elanna said quietly as she got up from the table. "Why would you?"

 _This doesn't mean anything_ , she told herself as she marched towards Sickbay. It didn't mean she'd decided how she felt about Kath's death, or the assault on the Cardassian, or what kind of, if any, relationship she wanted with Tom. It was just that she'd known him a long time. He'd been badly hurt, and it's not like anyone else was going to visit him. It was the only decent thing to do, really. Besides, that damn hologram needed his weekly diagnostic. She had been planning on doing it tomorrow, but no time like the present.

But when she got to Sickbay, it was dimly lit and empty. "Computer! Activate EMH!" she barked.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency." The EMH beamed when he saw her. "Ah! Lieutenant Torres! I thought you were coming tomorrow!" For some inexplicable reason, the hologram had decided only B'Elanna was allowed to work on his program. He claimed Carey was a "philistine" and further, that his understanding of holomatrices was "rudimentary at best." She would have been flattered if only the Doctor weren't so incredibly irritating.

"Forget the diagnostic. Where the hell is Tom Paris?" she demanded.

The Doctor's expression reverted to his default state of long suffering. "Mr. Paris," he declared with obvious distaste, "has left."

B'Elanna's shoulders sagged in relief. "Oh," she said. "I guess the rumor mill got it wrong again. It sounded like his injuries were pretty bad."

"The accuracy of _Voyager_ 's rumor mill notwithstanding, 'pretty bad' is a fair assessment of the lieutenant's condition. Moderate concussion, splenic hematoma, and fractures of three of his lumbar vertebrae," the EMH recited. "Along with other assorted minor injuries."

"And you let him _leave_?" she asked, incredulous.

"I didn't 'let' him do anything," the Doctor huffed. "After his various surgeries were completed, I informed him a minimum forty-eight hour stay in Sickbay was recommended in order to provide adequate pain control. That's when he deactivated me. If Crewman Telfer hadn't come in for yet another episode of gastroesophageal reflux, I wouldn't have even been able to complete Mr. Paris' medical record!"

"You didn't consider that just _maybe_ it would be a good idea to inform someone that a severely injured member of the crew left Sickbay against your recommendation?" B'Elanna asked. Her stomachs were roiling - volunteering for dangerous missions, refusing medical care. _What are you doing, Tom?_

The EMH was clearly insulted. "I documented that he elected to leave against medical advice and filed the report in all the proper places. Both Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay will be informed in the morning as part of my daily medical briefing. I'm programmed to follow Starfleet protocols to the letter, as you are well aware." The hologram sniffed. "It's not as if his injuries are still life-threatening. Although I suspect he _is_ in a great deal of pain."

B'Elanna threw her hands up in disgust and left Sickbay without another word.

"We're still on for tomorrow, then?" the EMH called after her. "And if you wouldn't mind deactivating me?"

After a brief detour to her own quarters, B'Elanna made her way to Tom's door on Deck Four. There was no response to her first ring. _He's probably asleep_ , she considered. She should just leave and let him rest. _Unless he's not just sleeping. Maybe the Doctor missed something during his exam. Or Tom's decided to continue on his path of self-destruction…_ She quickly hit the chime again. Still no answer.

She hit it a third time and was just about to pry open the panel and hack the door open when it unlocked and slid aside.

His quarters were dark and silent, the only illumination that of the dim blue bulbs that extended over his bed. "Computer, increase the lighting to twenty percent," she called out. The space was nearly empty, just as she remembered. The standard 'Fleet issued furniture, one neglected plant - Tom's quarters were devoid of anything to indicate someone actually lived in them. B'Elanna suspected any personal belongings he might have had were destroyed along with the _Val Jean_ , which was why she had brought her little gift. She regarded the framed photo that she'd taken from her quarters and hoped it would have the desired effect.

B'Elanna crossed over to the bed on which Tom lay, curled on his side and his back towards her. He had yet to acknowledge her presence. "Hey," she said. "You OK?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "Just tired. Not really up for company. Only reason I unlocked the door was 'cause I was afraid you'd break it down otherwise."

B'Elanna smiled a little to herself as she eased down to sit on the edge of his bed. "Like I'd ever do something like that."

"What are you doing here, B'Elanna?" Tom asked after several moments of quiet.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied. "You left a pretty irritated hologram back in Sickbay."

"No reason to stay there."

"No, of course not. You're shaking and covered in sweat because you're feeling just dandy." She looked him over in the dim light. "God, Tom, you couldn't even manage to get your boots off, could you?"

"I'm fine," he insisted. Weakly.

B'Elanna bit back a sigh of impatience. "I brought you something." She reached over him to place the photo she'd brought directly within his line of sight. "Do you remember that day? You and Kath trying to teach me how to ride a bike up in Napa?"

"You were terrible at it," he said, and B'Elanna could hear a bit of life color his voice. "Kath and I were shocked. You were so much better than us at every other physical activity - swimming, running, hoverball. But you were a complete failure at riding a bike."

"My dad tried to teach me once before, when I was five," B'Elanna confessed. "I was terrible at it then, too. I threw a tantrum, and he gave up after the first day. There's no such thing as bicycles on _Qo'noS_ , so it's not like my mother was any help. But the two of you - you wouldn't give up. You made me feel like I'd won the Olympics when we made it to that first vineyard."

Tom passed the picture back to her. "Thanks. For bringing it. But you should keep it."

B'Elanna took the photo of the three of them, smiling and sweaty with their bicycles and wine glasses, and placed it on his bedside table. "What happened out there, Tom? In the nebula?"

"I was too slow," he said. "It didn't know we were trying to help. It was just trying to defend itself."

"Too slow," B'Elanna repeated. "Harry said you ignored Janeway's hails. He said it was like you froze."

"Maybe I did."

"The Tom Paris I know doesn't freeze at the helm," she continued, not sure she had the nerve to take this conversation where it needed to go.

"Well, like I've said before," his tone took on a sharp edge, "that Tom Paris is long gone."

 _Now or never, Torres. You have to ask him._ "Were you trying to get yourself killed, Tom?"

"No!" he said quickly. He took a few shallow breaths. "I don't know." Another long pause. "Maybe."

"Tom," she said, scared and saddened by his confession, but hopeful that at least he'd been willing to admit it, "I'm not going to try to excuse what you did on Volan, act like it's not a big deal. Because it is, and I wish I knew how to help you deal with it. But I do know there's nothing you can do to change it. You have to move forward. Maybe getting stuck out here, on _Voyager_ \- maybe it can be a second chance for you. To go back to the person you were before. To find the caring and compassionate person I used to know. You can be someone on this ship, Tom - you can help us. The crew needs you. I need you."

"I don't know how to be him anymore, B'Elanna," he said, his voice now completely empty of emotion. "I can't be him anymore."

"I don't know," B'Elanna replied lightly. "Flying a shuttle solo inside a dangerous life form just to help it sounds a lot like something the old Tom Paris would have done."

"I'm not sure it counts when the main reason you volunteered is that you wished you were dead."

And, with that, B'Elanna's patience for his depression and self-pity reached its end. He was here, alive and breathing - so he had a choice. A choice to get up off his damn bed and contribute. A choice that his father and his sister didn't have. And neither did Jora, nor Stadi, nor any of the others that had died because of the Cardassians, or the Kazon, or the damn Caretaker. Tom had a choice - if only he would get off his ass and _do_ something. She pushed herself off the bed and rounded on him.

"Will you stop talking like that?" she shouted. "Do you even hear yourself? How pathetic you sound? You hide in here, or on the bridge, or in the holodeck; you don't talk to anyone, you don't eat, you don't sleep, you deny yourself pain medication, and for what? Because if you punish yourself enough, it will change what you did to that Cardassian? Will it bring your sister back? Or your father? There's no point to this, Tom! It won't fix anything! I get that you think it's all your fault, but not living your life won't make it better! Goddamn it, Kath would be so pissed at you if she were still alive!"

But, as quickly as it had come up, her anger drained away, only to be replaced by shame. Here was her friend - someone that, if she was being honest with herself, she still deeply loved - suffering from terrible emotional and physical pain, and what did she do? Screamed and yelled, and told him his dead sister would be mad at him. "I'm sorry," she murmured, staring at the tips of her boots. "I shouldn't have said those things. The last thing you need right now is someone shouting at you."

But when she looked up from the floor, she saw Tom was sitting up. He was holding the photo she'd brought him.

"You're right," he said, gently rubbing a thumb over the surface of the image. "She would be pissed at me. She'd probably tell me to quit whining and go put my big boy pants on." His face crumpled in anguish. "God, B'Elanna, I miss her so much."

She moved to him then, climbed onto the bed and caught him as he fell into her arms, his body wracked with sobs. "I know," she whispered in his ear. "I know you do." She lost track of how long they sat there together, his tears falling steadily, and hers soon joining them. After a time, his breathing slowed and the tremors calmed and she helped him lay back down until his head was cushioned in her lap.

"You jackass," B'Elanna said, wiping at her red eyes with one hand, and stroking Tom's hair with the other. "I haven't cried in over fifteen years, and now you've made me do it twice in as many months."

Tom laughed a little, still sniffling. "Sorry." He tilted his chin up and met her eyes. "I've been wanting to tell you something. What you said to me, when I came to on Ocampa the second time - the not-panicked time. You should know - I've really missed you, too."

"Well, you don't have to anymore," B'Elanna said matter-of-factly, trying to stay on the more solid ground of their regular banter. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Tom tried to sit up, but B'Elanna put a firm hand to his shoulder and kept him still. He glanced up at her again. "I'm not sure I'm ready… for that. For us," he said, then reached back, putting his hand over hers. "I want to be, but… well, maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm kinda messed up right now."

"I had no idea," she commented dryly. "You've been hiding it so well." She squeezed his shoulder. "I wasn't proposing marriage, Tom. I just meant I want to be here for you. As your friend, for now. And maybe more someday. When you're ready. When we're both ready."

She let him lie there, massaging his temples as his eyes drifted shut. She felt bad about disturbing him just as he started to relax, but she needed to get him back to the Doctor. His breathing was still shallow and too fast, and she could hear little grunts and winces of pain every time he shifted position. Just as she resolved to broach the subject, Tom started to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Your comment about getting married," he said. "Back when we were at the Academy, I was so sure we were going to be together forever. Happily ever after, white picket fence, kids, dogs, the whole shebang."

Her face broke into a grin as she shook her head. "You always were such a sap." She began to ease him into a sitting position. "Well, we're going to be stuck together for a while. Crazier things have happened."

Tom was panting from effort, but he made it upright. He favored her with a gentle smile. "I think I prefer 'Hope springs eternal'."

"I like that one, too," B'Elanna agreed as she stood. She stuck her hand out. "Now come on."

He took it and let her pull him off the bed, but his forehead creased in pain and confusion. "Where are we going?" he grunted. "I don't think I can make it very far."

"Back to Sickbay," she said firmly. "You look like you're either going to throw up or pass out every time you move. You should be in a biobed."

He shook his head and backed away from her. "No. I can't."

Hands on her hips, she gave him her sternest glare. "We discussed this - you are not allowed to punish yourself anymore. There's no reason for you to be in pain. We're going."

Tom gave her a sheepish look. "It's not that. It's that damn hologram. I can't listen to him say 'I told you so' for the next two days. I'll go nuts. I mean, more nuts than I am already."

B'Elanna hooked her arm through his and started to slowly propel him forward. "If he gives you a hard time, I'll cut the power to his vocal processors. You need someone to take care of you. You're obviously not very good at it yourself."

He looked down at her with a rueful grin. "You volunteering for the job? I should warn you - it's a doozy. Long hours. Terrible compensation."

She pulled him closer so that she could support some of his weight as they made their slow trip back to Sickbay. "I think I'm tough enough to handle it."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** There is very little closure in real life, so I like to have a lot of closure in my fic. Plus, I fell in love with B'Elanna's mother while writing this story.

* * *

 **May 2380**

Miral, daughter of L'Naan of the House of Korath, used her elbows to shift various vegetables, fruits and other foodstuffs out of her way, carefully placing the large box she carried in the center of the broad wooden table.

"What," asked the silver haired Bajoran man standing at the kitchen sink, "is that?" His voice was rich with amusement.

"Cake," Miral answered him, her eyes narrowing as she considered the setting before her. She cleared a bit more space around the box, as if contact with the healthier foods would somehow devalue it. "From the baker next to the temple. Human children enjoy sweets."

"Which is why I made cookies," he said, coming over to the table and putting an arm around her waist. "And a pie. He's only three, you know. How many sweets do you think he can eat?"

"Klingon children have impressive appetites," she said, gesturing at the table.

"Is he human or Klingon?' her companion asked, laughing.

"He is both, as you are well aware, Yerre," Miral growled with mock severity, snatching the towel from his hands and swatting at him. "This will be their home, for a time at least. The child has never lived on a planet before. I want him to feel welcome."

Yerre cupped a calloused hand over her cheek. "Cake does not make a home, my heart. He will feel welcome because you are his grandmother, and because of the love he will see the moment he lays his eyes on you." He took back his towel. "Now get out of my kitchen so I can get back to work."

Miral climbed to the second floor of their lake home in the Bajoran city of Jalanda, to check on the room she'd prepared for her grandson and ensure everything was in its proper place. They'd acquired the house together some years ago, although Miral initially objected to its considerable size.

"Who will be sleeping in all of these bedrooms?" she demanded, when Yerre showed her the fourth and final one.

"People will show up," Yerre insisted with a wink. "You'll see."

Miral had shaken her head in disgust with the extravagance and impracticality of his choice, but Yerre knew he had won. After so many years on a desert colony, Miral loved being near the water.

It took some time after B'Elanna's ship went missing for Miral to realize there was nothing for her left on Kessik or in her marriage to John Torres. Initially, the rancorous couple was brought back together by their worry and loss. Miral was reminded of the young man she had met so many years ago on _N'Vak_ , who was kind and attentive; not full of swagger, boasting of exaggerated accomplishments, like all of the Klingon men she knew. Perhaps John remembered the passion for life that had first drawn him to Miral, back when they had only the superficial worries of youth to trouble them. But anxiety and nostalgia were tenuous connections at best, and a little over a year after _Voyager_ 's disappearance, they found themselves at odds again.

John, along with a few others that had lost family on the ship, pushed Starfleet to continue searching, long after what leads they had had dried up. Miral, ever the pragmatist, had resigned herself to never knowing what had happened to their only child and felt they should look forward.

"We shall not see B'Elanna again until we reunite in _Sto'Vo'Kor_ ," she said, to shut John up when he babbled endlessly about a ridiculous theory of Borg kidnappings and transwarp conduits. Did he not understand how his unfounded optimism only sharpened her grief?

"Excuse me," he snapped back at her, "if I prefer to think we'll see her again in this lifetime."

Apparently, John did not understand.

Her husband's work, in addition to his ceaseless quest for information on _Voyager_ , took him to distant worlds with more and more frequency. For her part, Miral found that while she could not say she was happier when John was off-world, she was certainly more at peace. So one day he returned to their home to find the front hall filled with packing crates.

"There is less honor in continuing the lie of our union than there is in dissolving it," Miral announced to her husband's startled face. "I am setting you free, John Torres."

John protested at first, out of habit, she supposed; or perhaps he was just annoyed she had made the decision without him. But it did not take long for him to realize there was no point in going on as they had. Regardless of whether they would see B'Elanna in this life or only the next, she was not here now; and staying in their marriage just for the sake of staying in their marriage was really no reason at all - despite what her family believed. Tradition was a flimsy shelter against acrimony and resentment.

She lived on _Qo'noS_ for a time after she left Kessik, but she found little for herself there as well. As a child, Miral never quite fit within the raucous environs of the Klingon homeworld - while many humans found her personality overbearing, on _Qo'noS_ she was thought bookish and rather introverted. Living away from Klingons for so many years did not help. So when she heard that Bajor was looking for terraformers to revitalize an area of their planet rendered a wasteland by the Cardassian Occupation, she seized the opportunity.

Miral liked the Bajoran people. They were thoughtful like Terrans, but had been able to blend spirituality and intellect in a way she found appealing. Humans were so secular. It had been tiresome to endure the dismissive looks the humans on Kessik always gave her when she spoke of Kahless or _Sto'vo'kor_. In the community in which she now lived, the inhabitants were happy to let her celebrate the Day of Honor alongside their worship of their Prophets.

Within a few months of her arrival on the planet, she found there was one Bajoran to whom she was particularly drawn. Sarto Yerre was the chef at a restaurant near her laboratory, and Miral frequently dined there - she had very few cooking skills and little interest in eating replicated meals alone every night. Miral being one of the very few Klingons on Bajor, it didn't take long for Yerre to note that he had a new regular amongst his patrons; although he did seem disappointed that she tended to stick to a few select items on the menu. One night, he came to her table, wearing the typical chef blues of Bajor, and declared that he would make her an epicure if it took his last breath. At first he plied her with many traditional Bajoran dishes - some of which she quite enjoyed, others which she politely declined to experience a second time. Then one day he emerged from his kitchen, his hair mussed and his face reddened by the heat of his stoves, and promised her a special treat. It was _hasperat_ , which he had served her many times before and was a particular favorite. This time, however, it came with a side of _gagh_.

"They go well together, don't you think?" he commented with a sly smile, his well-muscled arms on hips, as if challenging her to disagree with him. "Despite being from different cultures, the two dishes are quite complementary."

Miral was cautious with him for many months. John, after all, was endearing and charming and excellent company in the beginning as well. Miral was content with her life on Bajor - her work, her friends, her comfortable home and her books. She did not want to risk upsetting the balance she had achieved by rushing headlong into another romance that was likely doomed to failure. She no longer held any illusions about the tolerance levels of other humanoid species for long term coexistence with Klingons.

Yerre was patient with her, though. His wife and child had died in a labor camp during the Occupation, he had told her during one of their earliest conversations. He understood love and loss; he understood what it meant to be afraid of taking a chance on the former for fear of risking the latter. He had been alone with his stoves and pans and knives a long time himself. So they took it slow.

They also fought. Miral was a full-blooded Klingon, after all - even a reserved member of her species was quite a bit more… _spirited_ than the average human or Bajoran. It turned out Yerre was not the average Bajoran, though. Unlike John, he did not cringe when she shouted, or plead with her to calm down, or stew for hours or even days once the argument was over. The day after their first significant argument, Miral stayed away from the restaurant - she assumed Yerre would not want to see her.

Late that night, there was an urgent knocking at her door. When she opened it, she found Yerre standing there, his arms full of food containers and his expression suffused with concern.

"Are you sick?" he asked.

"Of course not," she scoffed at him. Klingons rarely became ill. "Why would you think such a thing?"

"You didn't come to dinner," he said, pushing past her into her home and arranging the containers on her table. "You always come to dinner on Wednesdays."

It was as if their fight had been forgotten. And to be honest, Miral could not remember what it was about either.

But still… although she now considered her life a happy one, she did not think complicating it with another marriage, or even cohabitation as Yerre had proposed a time or two, was necessary, or even wise. Until one day, she heard from her former husband.

"John," Miral greeted him through the console. "Are you well?"

"I'm wonderful, Miral!" he said, his expression radiating a gladness she had not seen in many, many years. "I wanted to be the one to tell you: B'Elanna is alive!"

It was a complicated story, and Miral was so overwhelmed by relief and joy and guilt that she didn't process it fully until several days later. Four years ago, _Voyager_ had not been destroyed, but rather taken to the Delta Quadrant. They had endured many battles and other dangers, but much of the crew was thriving - including her daughter.

The crew had somehow sent a hologram through to a 'Fleet ship that was traveling on the edges of the Beta Quadrant. The information it had provided before returning to _Voyager_ was little more than a current crew manifest and copy of their captain's official logs, but to Miral it was like an infusion of a life-giving force she had not realized she had been missing.

 _Lieutenant j.g. B'Elanna L. Torres, Assistant Chief Engineer_

As she thanked John for contacting her and wished him well, she realized there was only one person she wished to share her news with. Without further thought, and disregarding the knees that gave her increasing trouble in recent years, she ran the nearly five kilometers between her home and his restaurant and burst into his kitchen where he labored over the grill.

"My daughter is alive, Yerre!" she cried, over the clash of pans and shouts of the cooks.

He let his steaks burn as he crushed her in his bronzed and powerful arms. When he finally released her, she saw his eyes were shining with tears - with joy for her.

"You are right. We should live together," was all she said in response.

That was five years ago. Her reunion with B'Elanna was not as quick or complete as she would have liked. Instead it trickled in, over the years. First they were allowed to send short messages, but with little chance of getting a response. A year later, there was brief contact with _Voyager_ and more logs were sent, but still no direct connection with the crew. That was when Miral discovered B'Elanna was married - to Tom Paris, she noted with humor and satisfaction. Not quite three years ago, they gained the ability to exchange letters. And Miral learned she was a grandmother - to a sturdy boy named Owen Kohlar Paris.

Miral had seen him in many photos, and once over the comm system, eleven months before _Voyager_ emerged from a Borg transwarp conduit right outside the Alpha Quadrant. He had been sound asleep on his father's shoulder then, their designated "call" time taking place late in _Voyager_ 's night. But later today, the ship would be arriving at Deep Space Nine - the same place it had started its journey almost nine years ago. B'Elanna and Tom and Owen would then take a shuttle to Bajor, and Miral would finally meet her grandson in person.

Before she left for the transit station, she made another stop in the kitchen. "You mocked my cake, yet you have prepared food for a small army!" she declared.

"We're expecting a small army!" Yerre insisted. "Tom's mother and sister will be here in the morning, and John and his wife only two days after that. Not to mention the other _Voyager_ crew members that will be here tomorrow for dinner." He waved at the food that covered every flat surface of the expansive space. "I need to be prepared."

"You can accompany me, you know," she said more softly. "They will soon be your family, too." Yerre had lost too much in his lifetime. Miral wanted to reassure him of their connection, and the ones he would soon forge with B'Elanna and her husband and child, blood ties notwithstanding.

"Go, my heart," he said, smiling. "Have your reunion first. I will meet them soon enough." He looked around at the overflowing counters, hands on his hips and his brow furrowed. "Besides, I seem to have misplaced tonight's roast."

And so she stood alone at the shuttle station, waiting for her daughter. Others of the _Voyager_ crew were on the same vessel - mostly those that had once been known as members of the Maquis. The Federation had been suspicious of the returning insurgents, despite the fact that the movement for which they had fought had been quashed brutally by the Dominion many years prior. It was a happy coincidence that Miral lived on a planet whose treaty with the Federation prevented extradition of former Maquis, and she could therefore welcome her daughter's husband without fear of him getting arrested. Tom Paris would never fly for Starfleet again - that much was clear - but there was still hope that his legal status would become less questionable. In the meantime, the little family would stay with her and Yerre on Bajor.

Tall for a human, and taller than Miral herself, Tom Paris was the first one she spotted. He carried a toddler in his arms - one with light brown hair that curled over subtle ridges and hazel colored eyes that were much like Miral's own. Tom reached behind him into the shuttle's hatch to take a case from someone. It was B'Elanna.

Miral could not contain herself another moment. She rushed forward, weaving through the crowded deck until she reached them. "B'Elanna!" she cried, and clutched her startled daughter in her arms. It took only a moment for the younger woman to realize what was happening, and she embraced her mother tightly in return. Miral reveled in the feel of the soft brown hair, the lean but firm shoulders and arms, and the long missed scent of her lost and much loved child.

When Miral could finally bear to let go of her, she gave Tom Paris a quick nod, but there was another she wanted to greet first. She crouched down on her creaky knees and reached a hand towards the boy that was now standing on the deck and regarding her with curiosity.

"You must be Owen," she said, when the boy took her proffered hand in his own. "I am your grandmother."

The boy moved towards her and reached his free hand to her forehead, tracing her ridges. "You're very pretty," he commented. "Your forehead is like Mama's."

"Thank you, child," Miral said, her heart warm and large in her chest. "Your mother has her ridges from me, as you have your ridges from her. The charm, however…" and she looked back up at Tom Paris, who was observing this first contact with a broad grin. "I suspect that is your father's doing."

It was a happy afternoon. Yerre and Tom bonded quickly, as Miral suspected they might. Little Owen was curious and clever, and not a bit shy with his new grandparents. He had already convinced Miral to give him two cookies before dinner, much to B'Elanna's exasperation. As for her daughter - Miral saw a lightness and a joy in her that she had not seen before, and it gladdened her as nothing else did.

She found yet another level to her happiness when Owen requested she take him up for bedtime. She initially paused at the request - was this a job for a parent? Would her daughter or son-in-law be hurt at their child's quickly changing loyalties? But one look at his parents' relieved and tired faces, and she quickly acquiesced.

Her first attempt at a story - Miral had read B'Elanna the story of Toby the Targ so many times as a child that she still remembered the general plot - was summarily rejected. "That's for babies!" Owen pronounced. And so Miral switched to the story of Kahless versus the Firespitter, which Owen found far more satisfactory. Miral didn't know whether to be pleased or alarmed by her grandson's bloodthirsty preferences.

"I love you, _SoSnI_ '" Owen said sleepily, once Lukara had arrived to help Kahless defeat the vicious monster. Miral smiled and stroked his hair. His accent was flawless.

She stopped to give Yerre, cleaning up the first wave of dishes, a kiss and an offer of help. "You don't know where anything goes," he said, waving her off. "Go spend some time with the children."

She found them on the patio, B'Elanna fast asleep on the cushioned bench, her head resting on Tom's lap. Miral smiled at the little tableau and sat herself on the low wall of the unlit fire pit, close to her son-in-law.

"I am gratified to see that my long ago prediction was correct," she said quietly so as not to disturb her sleeping daughter. At Tom's questioning look, she continued, "You have made someone a worthy life-mate, Tom Paris. I am very pleased that it is B'Elanna."

"I try," he said, smiling back at her. "I'd say I'm more successful some days than others."

"That is all we can ask, or expect," Miral replied. "Of ourselves and our partners. I am surprised to see her sleeping. As an adolescent, I practically had to chase her to bed with a _bat'leth_."

"Can I let you in on a secret?" Tom said, his eyes twinkling. "There's a reason she's so tired these days."

Miral looked up at him, her own smile reaching her lips. "Another child?" she asked.

Tom nodded. "It's early days yet, so B'Elanna doesn't like to tell people." His expression changed then, to something more melancholy. "We've been… disappointed a few times. Before Owen, and once after." He stroked his wife's hair tenderly. "I've gotta good feeling about this one, though."

Before Miral could fully express her happiness for their news and her sorrow for their losses, a sharp cry came from the monitor she'd brought down from Owen's room. Despite having slept soundly through Tom and Miral's conversation, B'Elanna sat up immediately at the sound of her child's distress.

"I'll go," Tom reassured her, with a kiss to her forehead and a caress of her cheek. "Stay with your mother."

B'Elanna rubbed at her face as she sat up more fully and leaned back against the cushions.

"If you are tired, B'Elanna," Miral said, "perhaps you should go up to sleep in your room. I have made the sure the bed is soft, as you used to like it."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "He told you, didn't he? I knew he wouldn't be able to keep it to himself."

"He is happy," Miral said, "and hopeful. Two things I certainly won't discourage."

"He's an idiot," B'Elanna said with a shake of her head and a great deal of affection. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "When's Dad coming?"

"Three days," Miral said. She regarded her daughter closely. "You do not look pleased."

B'Elanna shrugged. "It's fine. I was bound to see him eventually."

Miral stayed silent for a time and considered what to say to this. "You should not confuse your father's occasional failings as a parent as lack of love for you, _SaJ._ It hurt him, you should know, when you sent him such short letters from _Voyager._ Or failed to write him at all."

"Occasional failings…!" B'Elanna was sitting up quite straight now. "He constantly criticized me! He always made me doubt myself! I had to get thrown halfway across the galaxy to figure out that I had value, that I could matter! I'd think you'd be the last person to be concerned about how hurt he is."

"Your father and I were not meant for a long commitment to each other," Miral said. "That is obvious now. But I have fond memories of our early years together. And I will never regret the union that created you." She reached for her daughter's hands. "Tom told me of your babies - the ones you have lost. That sort of pain - I am well familiar with it. It is hard on a marriage. I am happy to see your bond with Tom is stronger than your father's and mine."

B'Elanna stared at her, realization dawning across her face. "I had no idea," she said in a hushed voice. "I'm so sorry."

Miral stood and joined her daughter on the bench. "Forgive your father, _SaJ_. Perhaps he tried too hard to make you into the person he wanted you to be; but give him a chance to love the person you have become."

Mother and daughter sat together quietly, watching the stars make their nightly appearance in the Bajoran sky and listening to their men laughing in the house. "I like Yerre," B'Elanna remarked.

"I am glad," Miral said. "He is a good man, and we are well-suited to each other."

"Can I ask you something? Something personal, I mean?"

"Of course."

"Why aren't you married? You've been together over five years now, right?"

Miral smiled at the stars above them. "Yerre and I will marry next month."

"Congratulations." B'Elanna leaned into her mother's shoulder. "So what made you finally pull the trigger after so long?"

"A simple reason," Miral answered her, wrapping an arm around her beloved child. "I was waiting for my heart to come home."

The End

* * *

 **Final A/N** : That's all, folks! Thank you so much to everyone that came along for the ride! Particular thanks to those that took the time to leave comments, to **Photogirl1890** for her superhero-like ability to spot typos, and to **Sareki02** for never letting me get away with anything, (except not making Miral's eyes blue. Honestly, I can't even remember why that was so important to me now. Pretty sure I was just being stubborn...)


End file.
